


Playing for Keeps

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blowjobs, Community: paperlegends, Fisting, M/M, Paperlegends 2013, Secret Relationship, minor non graphic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 75,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Royal Philharmonic Conductor Arthur Pendragon thinks he has everything under control, until his solo violinist calls in sick the night of a major concert and he's cumbered with a last minute substitute. The substitute in question, Merlin Emrys, is everything Arthur believes a lead violin shouldn't be: argumentative, riotous, not properly awed by tradition. But he still catches Arthur's eye because he plays beautifully and has an endearing way about him that's not easily ignored. And Arthur does try to stick to that ignoring option hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is basically inspired by several music-based romance novel blurbs but it gave me the chance to listen to some fine compositions. Yet as much fun as I had playing the suites on Youtube, this story would have never seen the light of day without Adelagia's excellent and thorough beta, Wanderlust48's coherence beta, Ficcety's initial cheerleading, and the help of everyone who offered their support on Paperpushers (even though I ended up posting a different story.) Also if you don't do anything else, please, consider checking puckboum's art because it's lovely, bright and wonderful. I was really honoured to have such a brilliant artist. A big shout out goes to The_muppet for making paperlegends possible.
> 
> Beautiful art alert: check out the art at the artist's page: http://puckboum.livejournal.com/14551.html

**Playing for Keeps.**

**Part One**

 

“I'm afraid Edwin Muirden is ill, sir, a terrible case of the flu,” George, Arthur's trustworthy albeit somewhat obsequious factotum, said, as he escorted Arthur into Cadogan Hall, “but thankfully we could find a substitute, sir.”

Arthur scowled deeply. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. While last-minute substitutions were in rare cases necessary, they always threw Arthur for a loop. His sense of order felt challenged every time one was announced. Schedules were schedules for a reason; disrupting them seemed like an act of carelessness, a wilful bowing down to the gods of chaos. 

Not to mention the fact that programmes would already have been printed and distributed and that online versions of them would have long appeared on the Royal Philharmonic 's website. 

Arthur couldn't imagine the paying public would be very happy knowing that the performer scheduled to entertain them wouldn't be featured at all. It almost tasted like fraud. While variations couldn't be avoided in some cases, they were always certain not to be welcome.

Arthur felt some deep discontent at the upheaval of Muirden's backing out had caused him. He also also felt like blaming the man. Plenty of violinists would give their left foot for the opportunity of having him conducting them. 

Arthur wasn't vain but he was aware of his value as a conductor. It was worth more than his fame. He knew he could draw in audiences just as he knew how to deliver the perfect show for them. 

And if the chance to perform under him wasn't enough to convince Muirden to swallow a cartload of aspirin, then the lure of playing for the RPO should have worked and got him out of bed. If neither had been enough, then Arthur was ready to call Muirden a lazy artist. 

In short, what an idiot Muirden was, giving the RPO a pass. A chance to perform in such a venue shouldn't be given up so lightly.

Arthur grunted. He found no better expression for his churning dissatisfaction than to do that. Then, a horrible feeling hitting him, he stopped halfway towards the top of the stairs leading to the concert hall. “Does this substitute person know the piece he's to play at least?”

“Naturally, sir,” George assured him in a way that sounded rather too enthusiastic to be entirely true. “He performed the piece a number of times, as far as I know.”

Arthur would have liked to see or hear the recordings of these performances but knew that was impossible. Even if he was able to judge for himself, timing alone wouldn't allow for any changes. Tonight's concert was impending and finding a third person to perform, someone Arthur would approve of – Mithian, perhaps – wasn't feasible. The time constraints alone didn't permit it. 

“We will make do,” Arthur said with a sigh. 

And that was exactly what they would do. They'd settle for the next best thing to losing face. That was what happened when changes like this took place. Unfortunately, the concert wouldn't be the noteworthy event he had hoped it would be – and had painstakingly worked towards – but Arthur would at least do his best to ensure that his audience (that was the way he saw it, this audience was his) wasn't completely let down. 

The soloist might fail but the orchestra’s performance would be polished. 

Under the onslaught of a new wave of determination, Arthur resumed going up the stairs.

George stayed put. “I suspect there's one more issue.” George swallowed, his Adam's apple travelling all the way down to the base of his throat and then bobbing back up again. He even bowed his head like a deferential puppy that knew he was about to be punished.

Arthur looked daggers at him. George knew his set behaviours. He knew that he always liked to practice and warm up before a performance. He needed to have some time to himself to go over the piece he was to direct from all angles, make sure he knew it inside out. Couldn't George have blurted out all there was to tell in one fell swoop so that Arthur could proceed with his already disrupted day? And maybe do so in a manner befitting his role as conductor.

“What?” Arthur blurted out curtly.

“The sub soloist is very--” George usually had a nice turn of phrase. He could be quite verbose when he put his back to it and had never lacked for words when it came to fawning. The very fact that George couldn't bring himself to speak out didn't bode well. 

Arthur pressed his hands to his temple in an attempt to keep his impending headache at bay.

“As long as he can take a stab at Bach's _Partita No. 2_ ,” Arthur said, “I don't particularly care.”

Pearls of sweat made an appearance on George’s rather prominent forehead. “In that case I'm sure you'll be satisfied, sir.”

That, of course, was a case of 'famous last words'. When Arthur walked into the auditorium for the last rehearsal before the performance, he'd expected to find the replacement soloist standing on the stage ready to take up his cue when Arthur ordered. What he found instead was a set of familiar faces, the orchestra members, all occupying the stage and looking at each other in a rather perplexed way. 

“What now!” Arthur barked, really hating his day.

Sefa stood up, nearly tripping into her skirt, and said, “We're waiting for Mr Muirden's replacement, sir.”

As though those words had summoned him, a tall, lanky boy with ruffled hair and wearing a tee that had bona fide holes in it appeared on stage, clutching a violin. Even though the boy looked like he should by all rights be sitting for his A levels instead of treading the boards of such an important venue, Arthur had no doubt he was their replacement. That violin alone said it all. Even so, Arthur couldn't refrain from saying, “Can't find the nursery?”

The boy goggled, a shock of blue eyes changing expression under the mutable lights of the stage. They went from wounded to angry in the span of two seconds. “Actually, no. I'm here to replace Mr Muirden.”

Arthur closed his eyes. “You're late,” Arthur said with ever waning patience, then giving the boy a once over, that unfortunately made him aware of his highly irritating, scruffily-cute appeal, he added, “By the way, do you really think that's a proper outfit for Cadogan Hall?”

The replacement looked down at his clothes, a hand splayed on his belly. He looked dumbfounded, a line crossing his forehead, his mouth slightly open. A hint of pink tongue made an advance foray outwards so he could lick at his lips. He looked as though he didn't understand what was wrong with his outfit. When his astounded expression was replaced by one of annoyance – rather quickly at that too – he said, “I thought what mattered was the way I played.”

Arthur sighed loudly. “The best performances come from those who respect their art as well as their colleagues.”

“Actually, you're the one who's not respecting me by singling out my clothing choice.”

“Actually--” Arthur inflated his chest, reprising the boy's words in a childish feat of pique. “I'm your conductor and I'm allowed to reprimand you.”

The replacement looked away, his lips curled, his eyes shooting daggers. He released something that sounded a lot like a snort to Arthur. “I'm sure this is the only place where you feel justified to vent, but let me tell you, mate, I'm sorry your life's made you so repressed you need to put down others to get off, but don't take it out on me. This is just a rehearsal. I'm allowed to dress as I want.”

Arthur spluttered, at a loss for a comeback. No one, no one had ever tried to challenge him like this before, not on his home turf. He'd had competitors vying for his job at the RPO. And other conductors did sometimes act as though he stood in the way of their success – Arthur being younger than them had made them bitter – so a bit of animosity was to be expected. He'd been at the receiving end of his fair share so he knew what to expect. But this – Being challenged like this by a man he ought to direct had never happened to him before.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said,” the replacement said, “that that baton of yours is not there so it can become the proverbial stick up your arse, you know.”

Arthur would have murdered their newbie replacement if Gaius, their concert leader, hadn't cleared his throat and said, “Merlin is sorry, Arthur. What he meant to say was that he's raring to get on. As a matter of fact, he'd love nothing better than to proceed with the rehearsal.”

“Who's Merlin?” Arthur asked, his rage having wiped out most of his cognitive abilities. 

Their replacement raised his hand. “That would be me. And yeah, I'd love to rehearse if you stopped being such an arse about my clothes.”

“Merlin,” Gaius thundered. “Apologise to Arthur--”

“He complained about my clothes! That's silly, inconsequential, completely beside the point and just a way for him to stake a territorial claim on this orchestra!”

Gaius treated Merlin to an eyebrow raise that was meant to be the dressing down of all dressing downs. Arthur knew it well, because he had at one time trained under the man.

“Sorry, Arthur,” Merlin said in a tone that was only one part genuine to ten put-upon.

Arthur would have retorted to that with “You can't call me that, it's Mr Pendragon to you," but he realised that he would be holding up rehearsals himself if he did so. Instead he said, “Let's begin from the beginning.”

Four hours later Arthur had developed a terrible headache and the worst case of stage fright since he'd started conducting professionally. The fact that the concert was about to begin wasn't helping chase away that feeling, though Merlin having changed into a proper set of tails was.

At least a little bit. They might be going onto the breach less prepared than Arthur would have liked, but at least Merlin did now look the part. It was a relief.

As the orchestra finished working on the tuning, he waited by the side of the stage. When the proper pre-concert hush fell on the audience, Arthur received the customary signal from Gaius. It was time to step on stage. He could do it. He could most definitely do it if he focused. There was no reason to be thinking of Merlin right now. There was no reason to think about all the ways a single man could bollocks an event like this up and ruin Arthur's hard-gained reputation. 

Taking a big breath, Arthur walked onto the stage, wearing a professional, detached expression. Emptying his mind of all thought that didn't concern music, he fell back on habit, doing what he'd been doing for the past five years: living to give a good performance. He was aware that he cut a fine figure; his body language would give off an assured vibe. His posture would be assured, his set of tails tailored to suit his body. His stride would be that of a man who knew his worth in the world. His bow would be dignified, a salute to an audience that greeted him with a round of poised applause. 

Thanks to bloody Merlin though that was only a façade he was putting on today. The truth was that he was discomfited, annoyed, and put off. 

If he hadn't had a powerful sense of deontology he would have walked off in a strop and refused to take his baton. But knowing that sponsors would be crowding the venue had stopped him from pulling what Gaius would have equated to a tantrum. Even though his pride was wounded and his sense of dignity had been challenged, Arthur couldn't do that. Not to his audience.

He respected the Royal Philharmonic and his public too much to let that happen. Nowadays classical music was losing out to a variety of other genres. In a sense it was dying out. If you didn't cultivate aficionados and patrons, and made them come back, then you were digging the Philharmonic's grave with your own hands.

For his mother's sake, Arthur would never allow that. He'd fight tooth and nail on behalf of classical music.

Trying to steady himself, he made the mistake of glancing to where Merlin was waiting to make his entrance. He sent him a glare that meant 'behave' and then started speaking, announcing the programme change.

“Good evening,” he began with an easy smile. “There has been a variation in tonight’s schedule. Our soloist as listed on our publicity material, Edwin Muirden, won't be here with us tonight. Unfortunately he's ill and has taken some time off to rest.” The latter part of this statement was an embellishment. They'd had no news from Muirden regarding his future plans but that call George had made Arthur aware of, stating Muirden wouldn’t turn up due to a case of the flu. But this one was a fabrication that was needed in order to placate the public. 

In answer to his statement there was some discontented grumbling from the audience so Arthur waited for the next silent pause before he was able to further deliver his speech. “Merlin Emrys is going to substitute for him.”

There was a curious murmur among the public. It didn't sound idignant or as though they were too put out by the news. That was rather unexpected as far as Arthur was concerned. There had to be something in Merlin's CV that had made them react so. Or perhaps it was his affiliation to a prestigious school that did the trick. Arthur knew nothing about Merlin aside from what Gaius had told him after the rehearsal and that was precious little. Apart from having graduated, traditionally enough, from the Royal College of Music, there was nothing about Merlin's previous exploits that seemed to warrant the endorsement of such an elite audience as that of the Royal Philharmonic. 

Yet Arthur wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. If the audience was content with Merlin and up to forgiving them for the unscheduled substitution, then Arthur would go with the flow. He bowed again. “Thank you for your attention,” he said as just as Merlin, pace lackadaisical, took to the stage.

"I hope you'll enjoy tonight's performance."

Before turning to face his orchestra, his back to the audience, Arthur waited for Merlin to tune his violin. 

The Bach Violin Concerto that was scheduled for tonight was a challenging piece. The last part alone, the chaconne, surpassed the length of the previous four movements put together. Because of its controversial nature and its relationship to the rest of the suite, it had become a bravura piece beloved by most musicians. All those Arthur had known had always loved playing it. It was their chance to shine in that it called for a true virtuoso's delicacy of touch. Merlin seemed to be the same, playing the theme with gusto, paying close attention to the chord progression based on the repeated bass note pattern, and giving rise to a series of variations that bewitched the ear. 

All in all, though, even if Merlin were not to live up to the piece's climax, that wouldn't be catastrophic. Even though the violinist's performance was central, the piece would allow for the rest of the orchestra to do well. 

If the fiddle wasn't superb they could cover up for it. 

Merlin, though, was giving the piece his all and Arthur couldn’t refrain from being fascinated by his performance. Eyes closed, fingers making love to that bow, Merlin looked as though he was in a trance, as though that fiddle was his passion.

As a whole Merlin had a sweet air about him as he performed that drew the eye to him. That air might have made people think of him as a hobbyist, but Arthur didn't doubt Merlin's love for his instrument, nor, now that he was listening to him properly for the first time, the fact that he had talent.

Conducting Merlin was a pleasure, Arthur was finding. Merlin seemed to have an instinctive feel for his cues. Aside from that, Merlin was far better than Arthur had thought he'd be when he'd clapped eyes on him a few hours before. 

To be quite and fully honest, when Arthur had first seen Merlin he'd thought he was just an incompetent wannabe who was there because they had no other artist to settle on after Muirden's defection. He'd believed Merlin was only here to ruffle feathers. He'd been convinced that Merlin was merely someone who had given a couple of school concerts and now thought himself a musician. Now Arthur found himself compelled to review that opinion. 

Seguing into another section, Merlin finished the second variation perfectly smoothly. Arthur was stunned by Merlin's talent, the amount of feeling he was displaying. Most people thought that playing with feeling was just a myth, that once you had the skill set required to pull off a virtuoso piece then you were a great musician. But that wasn't true. You could perform, but if you couldn't move your audience, then you were like a little brass monkey moving to the music a music box made. Nothing more, nothing less.

Merlin instead could move you. 

He was giving the piece a natural vivacity and warmth, extracting it from his instrument as if it was second nature to him. At times Arthur thought Merlin had become a personification of his violin. Arthur couldn't even say the purity of Merlin's sound was due to his instrument and merely that. His fiddle was doing its job but it was not the reason behind Merlin's outstanding performance. 

The instrument itself wouldn't allow for that. It served its purpose but it wasn't a great fiddle. It was a modern creation, not a jewel created to relinquish the finest notes on earth. There was no way that thing Merlin owned was producing those fine sounds by itself.

Arthur's mother had been a natural and in her memoirs she'd stated that sometimes the right instrument could make you sound as though you were better than you were. She'd called it the treasure trove of craftsmanship. She'd also maintained that a mediocre fiddle could betray the best musician. 

And yet here Merlin was coaxing real music out of that thing. Arthur had never been a great lover of this partita. It was too wistful for his tastes. There was a note of Baroque sadness to it that had never appealed to him. But Merlin was going through its phases marvellously, giving the piece an airy quality. 

In the past Arthur had heard fiddlers murder this piece by giving it too much vibrato, by giving it too technical an aura, as if they were sloughing through the sections just for the sake of doing so. Merlin, on the contrary, wasn't rushing through it.

And the audience was loving it, Arthur could feel it. They had fallen in a profound silence that managed to be more soundless than music hall silences tended to be. And Arthur could see why they were reacting so, why they were responding with such awe. It was thanks to Merlin. 

He was reconsidering his own lack of love for this Bach piece himself. And to say that he'd only seen the choice of music as a way to captivate a few wealthy patrons who were lovers of Bach's flair for improvisation. He'd dismissed the musician, counting his partita like a popular choice that had to be made for commercial purposes.

Usually, Arthur saw that kind of pandering to the audience as a little bit beneath him but tonight he didn't feel as though he was giving in to the public's taste for the obvious. Arthur was actually enjoying himself and 'seeing' this piece of music with new eyes for the first time since his student days.

Basking in this new experience, Arthur glanced over to Merlin and their gazes converged. Despite that, a moment that might have been a distraction, the music continued, Merlin sliding into counterpoint, filling the concert hall with its powerful notes. 

Merlin was now tackling the middle section of the partita. It was a major mode section and was considered by many the pinnacle of the solo violin repertoire. In itself this section included every aspect of violin playing as it was known in the composer's day and age. And Merlin had mastered it splendidly.

With effort, Arthur tore his gaze from his soloist and fixed it on the score open before him. Since he'd committed the music to memory in the weeks leading up to this event, he didn't really need to have his eyes on it. But looking away was the best thing he could do at his point. Merlin was too enticing in his moment of musical ecstasy. Arthur had no place getting distracted.

Not during such an important performance as this.

As the minutes passed, Merlin started on the last part of the composition, a sombre and sad goodbye song critics thought Bach had written in memory of his wife. 

With a knot in his throat Arthur realised that Merlin's playing had moved him, was still doing so. With his art Merlin had somehow managed to cover both the technical hurdles the composition presented as well as to transmit the depth of feeling the piece evoked. The love and loss. The sadness involved. 

By the time the last note sounded in the air, the public had risen to their feet. Their clapping filled the air.

The rapturous clapping going on, Arthur bowed deeply. The clapping intensified and presents and testimonials started raining in. Arthur got a bunch of flowers from a girl who'd entered stage left. While this happened, the applause went on undaunted, so Arthur bowed once more. This time, though, he signalled for the orchestra to rise and acknowledge the audience. 

At this point Arthur left the stage, giving the flowers he'd been gifted with to George to secure somewhere safe and out of the way. But the clapping was continuing so Arthur returned back on stage. There he took a third bow, acknowledged his orchestra with a nod, then his soloist, who was getting his very own fair share of accolades – the bravos distinctly multiplied when he bowed – then, before leaving the stage for the evening, Arthur bowed one last time.

During the ritual bowing Arthur had watched Merlin out of the corner of his eyes to see how he reacted to the warm reception he'd been given. What Arthur noted was that Merlin had been pretty humble about it. His bowing had been clumsy, as though he wasn't used to it, his grin had been pleased but not smug, and his blushing somewhat endearing. 

Merlin mightn't have had the same gravitas some performers naturally displayed but he didn't behave badly when faced with this kind of praise. He could withstand the sometimes fierce adoration an audience could subject you to with a certain simple grace. And though he was still bumbling about it he did nothing to be ashamed of.

When the public's interest in him got more obvious, Merlin flushed and seemed to become ill at ease with the phenomenon, his fingers curling and uncurling with a frequency that wasn't normal, his smile thinning. Still he stayed on stage and took the praise.

Arthur gave him kudos for that. 

After the final bow, Merlin ducked back stage along with Arthur. Arthur hadn't meant to talk to him. Arthur was always tense after a concert, always needed to unwind, so talking, and especially with someone like Merlin, with whom he'd started on rocky terms, wasn't what he wanted to do. Tonight like on many nights before, he just wanted calm and quiet to gather himself. Duty fulfilled as he saw it, he avoided the fans thronging the back stage area as well as those orchestra colleagues who wanted to speak to him. 

But he hadn't taken Merlin into account. Merlin, unlike the orchestra members who knew him best, and when to back off, had no idea of his routines. That was the reason why, Arthur suspected, the man came up to him.

Arthur had almost cleared the crowd when Merlin called out, “Mr Pendragon, please.”

After the little altercation they'd had during rehearsals Arthur couldn't say he was eager to talk to Merlin. In part it was because he thought Merlin had been downright rude and disrespectful. He'd been the one to arrive late and he'd been the one to wear laughable clothing. But his wanting to avoid him also stemmed from another cause.

After having witnessed Merlin's performance, Arthur felt like he'd been a little harsh on Merlin. He'd treated him as he would an amateur and, well, he'd been mistaken in thinking Merlin such. Still admitting that didn't come easy. Since he would probably not see Merlin again, he'd thought that he could let sleeping dogs lie and avoid confrontation entirely. 

If he didn't see Merlin again then he wouldn't have to say sorry nor would he have to accept his apologies. Which would then require him to apologise in turn. But it was not to be because Merlin seemed to know how to sprint and catch up with him.

For the sake of good manners Arthur was compelled to stop. “Yes, Emrys?” 

“I just wanted to tell you,” Merlin said, panting a little, “that you're a really good conductor and I'm sorry I was late.”

Arthur turned around, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “Yes, well, you were lucky I put up with it. Other conductors wouldn't condone guest artists behaving the way you did.”

“Would it help if I said I lost my cat and had to go looking for him and that was the reason why I was late?” Merlin asked with an eyebrow wiggle.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Do you really have a cat?”

Merlin snorted, blushing. “No, busted. I have a cactus, though.”

Arthur bowed his head to hide a smile at the non-sequitur. “Getting in late reeks of a lack of professionalism,” he said, in the same chiding tone many of his music teachers had used on him when he was learning.

“To be quite honest, there was no way I could have made it in time,” Merlin said. “I was your last minute patch-up sub. I was in the shower when Uncle Gaius called.”

“Our Concert Leader is your uncle?” Arthur asked, mouth dropping open.

Merlin took to laughing, eyes gone crinkly at the corners. “I'm afraid so. And now you'll think he dabbles in nepotism. But it's not actually true. I mean he tried other violinists before me but they were too hoity toity to answer a last minute request. They all had engagements in trendy places. Or recording. Or performing for great institutions. So Uncle Gaius got a bit desperate and rang me up.”

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his eyes, his narrow-eyed stare not sweetening in the least. “Tell me you had indeed played the Bach before, please, and not just at home alone.”

Merlin waved his hands. “I did play the Bach before. At the RCM and for a couple of sponsored charity gigs.”

Arthur's eyes widened both in consternation and affirmation. His hunch had been correct after all. “So I wasn't wrong in thinking you'd just been spat out by some kind of conservatory.”

“I wouldn't call the RCM some kind of conservatory.” Merlin bristled.

Neither would Arthur, actually. And it seemed they'd taught Merlin well. Or perhaps Merlin's artistry was the kind of thing you don't teach but are born with. It didn't change the fact that Arthur's assessment of him hadn't been wrong. Merlin was to all intents and purposes very, very green. “No, but I wouldn't call you a seasoned violinist either.”

“Probably not, no,” said Merlin, “but you're not an old geezer either, are you? I've read what the newspapers have to say about you. Youngest director to ever grace the Royal Philharmonic. Classical music's heartthrob. Makes teenagers buy tickets for classical concerts they'd otherwise avoid like the plague.”

Arthur grunted at the reminder. Those headlines had been frankly embarrassing. “I suppose you also read how they think I owe my position to my late mother's role at the RPO, her star.”

“That too,” said Merlin, shifting his weight, sounding sheepish, “but after tonight I don't believe that. I could follow your beat so easily. You're really that great.”

Arthur made another little noise in his throat that wasn't dissimilar from his previous grunt. He wasn't looking forward to either hearing his mother discussed or to having his talents praised. “Well, I'm glad we cleared matters up. I'm all for maintaining civil relationships with the guest musicians I encounter.”

“Er,” said Merlin, gnawing his lower lip into a state of redness that made Arthur think less than sober, innocent thoughts. “Civil, right.”

“And now that I know how things went down I must say that I appreciate your readiness to fill in.”

“Are you joking?” a wide-eyed Merlin asked. “This is the Royal Philharmonic! It was an honour.” He studied Arthur as if he was sure Arthur was crazy to have made such a statement. “It was like a dream come true. And playing under your direction... I wouldn't have known it when you told me off for my tee, but that was great. I really had fun.”

Used as he was to hearing people compliment him, Arthur wasn't particularly moved. Or only a little bit. He locked his jaw and made sure he was looking at Merlin in a way that would sober the boy up completely – it was needed; an effusive Merlin was nice, but the boy, cute and all, needed to learn his place and how not to use his admittedly enticing open manners to impress people – then pronounced a rather withering, “Thank you, but your praise is entirely misplaced. I merely did my job.”

“Wow,” said Merlin, face falling in a second flat, “that was cold. I was trying to make friends and you sounded so, so... priggish.” Merlin was clearly fishing for words and selecting the best one he could use short of an insult. “I see that stick is firmly up your arse.”

No, Merlin was still pretty good at those insults. Arthur couldn't care less. He shrugged, feigning nonchalance though he wasn't sure whether he preferred Merlin at his most challenging or at his most fawning. Though he could by no means accept it, he'd loved the praise. Yet Merlin was at his most interesting when he was at his most defiant. “I see you haven't given up on your churlish repertoire.”

“And since you're being such a cold arse, I suppose I'm not asking you out for a beer as I'd meant to.” Merlin's ears went mauve when he parsed what he'd said. He seemed to consider reformulating, and promptly did so with a spatter of nearly senseless words. “A beer with the others at the pub round here. To celebrate. Because you're not coming. Because--”

“Thank you; you explained the grounds of your non-invitation well enough,” Arthur sniped, a little ticked off. Not that he'd wanted to be invited but Merlin's retraction was really piss poor. Merlin might have sounded less juvenile about it to begin with. Not that a beer out with Merlin would be a reward of any kind since Merlin's niceness needed to be kept at bay. (Arthur may have noticed he was fit in an odd way but he wasn't so hopeless as to seriously consider Merlin as a fling option). Anyway Merlin's pointing out that the outing wouldn't take place because he was pissed off with Arthur was just childish. Deciding that he should be polite and the better man no matter how Merlin rubbed him the wrong way, Arthur said, “I thank you for the non-offer but I wouldn't have taken you up on it any way. I'm shortly expected at a patrons party.”

“Well then,” Merlin said, folding his arms. “I'd wish you a good night but I'm feeling cross with you so I won't.”

Was that hurt Arthur was reading in Merlin's face? That was not probable. Merlin didn't really want to spend time with him, he wanted to make up because he was puppyish and ticked like that, and Arthur didn't either. They'd tried mending bridges and being polite but that hadn't worked. It was better if Arthur cut his losses now. It wasn't as though he'd have to see Merlin again after tonight.

With the excuse of avoiding a group of fans brandishing his photo for an autograph, Arthur said, “Excuse me,” and ducked into his dressing room, curtailing an acquaintance that would have made neither Merlin nor Arthur happy.

Merlin had barely had enough time to turn around and sight the trio of fans approaching Arthur, than the latter had disappeared in his dressing room. Sighing, Merlin had been left to deal with the group of disappointed Arthur lovers.

In order to make up for how they'd been let down by not getting to meet Arthur, he was the one who'd had to sign the photos they'd come wielding. He signed even though the photo was of Arthur, and even though one of the young people asking for an autograph thought he was Edwin Muirden (as that was the name on the programme). He hadn't been able to think of anything else to do to make up for their disappointment. With that in mind he tried to smile, said a few things about how much he loved the last movement of the Chaconne so he would get to properly interact with his audience, and personalised all autographs.

Not even an hour later, though, Merlin found asylum within the odd atmosphere of the Cadogan Arms, a ritzy end pub not too far from Sloane Square. There, under the watchful stare of foxes, ferrets, fish and a bison whose heads were mounted on the walls, Merlin nursed a tall pint. He wasn't alone since he'd extended his invitation to other members of the orchestra.

Unlike Arthur they were much politer about accepting Merlin's invitation, so Merlin found himself out and about with a group of six people made up by the cellist, a diminutive girl called Freya; the oboist, whose name was Gilli; the pianist Elyan; the triangle player, a man called Tyr; the trombone player, Myror; and Sefa, the harpist.

Since he was in such nice company he gave Elena a ring too, his finger pressed to his ear so he'd be able to actually hear a phone conversation over the din made by the patrons of the rather posh pub. 

“Ellie,” he said, jovially, the beer certainly helping with the degree of merriment acquired, “I'm at the Cadogan Arms, get a cab and come here. I'm having a great time.”

“Merlin,” said Ellie, half-regretful, half-amused, “I'd love to but I'm in my PJs and wearing my bunny slippers.”

“Oh, come on, Ellie, come here and I'll buy you a pint, promise.”

“It's nearly eleven.”

“This place only closes around one,” Merlin told her, reading the signage by the door. “And I need to talk to you about my night.” And how obnoxious Pendragon had been. “Please, Ellie, who's my bestie?”

Ellie grunted. “That's such a low blow, Merlin.”

“For me?” Merlin made a sweet face Elena couldn't see but that he hoped she could 'feel' all the same.

“All right, but I want two of those pints.”

Merlin promised her he'd finance a drunken binge if she only came. “Litres of alcohol, I swear.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

Not forty minutes later, Elena entered the pub. When she spotted him, she came over to Merlin's table. Merlin made way for her, introducing her to the others as “My friend Elena.” 

Merlin's new orchestra friends greeted her each in their own way, a handshake, a kiss, a nod, a hand wave. As for Merlin, Elena plonked down right next to him and planted a wet buss on Merlin's cheek, missing his lips by a hair’s breadth. “My pint,” she commanded, sounding the flat of her hand against the table, drums style.

Merlin pretended to roll his eyes. Elena walloped him over the head, saying, “I told you I'd hold you to your word.” 

Merlin could only go to the bar and mock reluctantly get Elena her first pint. He came back holding it by the surprisingly flimsy handle, careful not to drop the precious liquid within. Still carefully balancing his drink, he straddled the bench next to Elena. “Here,” he said, “the price of your friendship.”

The others staring, Elena downed half her glass in one go, then she hiccuped, placed a hand before her mouth, burped and said, “Don't be stupid. You were just repaying me for the great emotional upheaval I went through to get dressed again after I got into my comfy flannels--” Elena was wearing a lovely but very wrinkled white dress “--and out of my flat.”

“Bollocks,” Merlin said, grinning. “You know you're milking it.”

“Beering it.”

Merlin laughed and shook his head. He sobered up a bit. “Thanks for coming, Ellie.”

Elena studied his face. “Did the evening not go well?” 

“Nah. It went well, I think.” Colour stole up his face. “I mean I think we all did well.” Merlin gave the other orchestra members a silent toast they barely noticed. They were all laughing and celebrating, either drinking or noshing on pub grub (Sloanie pub grub but pub grub nonetheless.)

“But?” Elena asked, wiping at the froth sticking to her upper lip. 

Merlin smiled a little bit more palely than usual. “But nothing. I even signed my first autographs.”

Elena slitted her eyes. “Something's still not right.”

Merlin tapped his fingers on the table. He wanted to complain about Arthur but he didn't want to make it look like the prat had the power to ruin an evening that had been pretty brilliant. So he settled for, “I think I didn't hit it off with Pendragon.”

“That was your conductor tonight, right?” Elena asked, her head tipped to the side.

“The man's pretty famous in his own right,” said Merlin, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah.”

“You know me,” said Elena bumping shoulders with him. “I don't know a Mozart from a Wayne Rooney.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, mock massaging his shoulder and fake wincing at Elena's words. “I'll convert you yet.”

Elena drank another, more moderate pull of beer. “So, how was this famed Arthur Pendragon?”

“Who?”

“Don't be silly, Merlin.” She laughed. “The man you were talking about. This Pendragon person.”

Merlin's eyes flashed to the other people around his table. “Shh, El, try and be more subtle.”

“You started it!”

“All right all right, true,” Merlin conceded, thinking back to how the night had started with a row. “It's just that I got in late and I'd have apologised but Pendragon started criticising stuff that has nothing to do with my abilities to play the violin, and I may have said he has a baton up his arse, so, erm.”

Elena snorted, burying her face in her arms. “Oh God, only you, Merlin.”

“It was more him than me, though.”

Elena looked up from the cradle of her arms. “Did he at least live up to this reputation you say he has?”

“He….” Merlin pondered what he wanted to say. Arthur Pendragon had been obnoxious but that was what he was like on a personal level. Merlin had apologised and Arthur had snubbed him. Yet he certainly knew how to conduct. “He’s very driven. Very focused.” Arthur's cues had a metronomic perfection to them and he was able to give his orchestra a sense of the complicated texture and rhythm of the piece they were playing. “But to be honest I don't have a read on him. He has so much passion bubbling inside him.” Merlin had seen him conduct with such animation and joy that he had no reason to doubt this. “He's actually a joy to behold on stage. But then he goes and shrivels up into this cold, pretentious twit who's just lost all that magic that I know he's got bottled up inside him. He can really drive you mad, totally bonkers with frustration, because, you know, he has this potential to just be great.” Merlin thought back to the concert, to the time he'd been following Arthur's cues with the keenest attention. He'd been happy on stage then. “And instead he's... he acerbic and caustic and rude.”

Elena’s snort filled the room; she eyed him with suspicion before saying, “Are we still talking about his talent? Because it seems to me we're not talking about that anymore. If I didn't know better, I'd say that this Arthur person has made more than just a professional impression on you.”

Merlin went a bit white, he was sure. What Elena was implying was so wrong. He hadn't liked Arthur. He didn't like gits. Well, he liked his musical sense. Not the man. Certainly not the man. “It's not like that.”

Elena's lips lifted in a happy smile. “It seems like it totally is.”

“I'm not allowing you to put ideas in my head.”

“I think you did it all by yourself just now,” she said, touching her finger to the centre of his forehead.

Merlin harrumphed. “He's not really my type.” Merlin made sure he was stressing the word 'not'. “I like his professionalism, not the man.”

“So he's ugly?” Elena asked, apropos of nothing, propping her head on her hand, elbow on the table. She was making round eyes at him and Merlin knew that wasn't her genuine curious expression. She only wanted to get him to talk. 

“No,” Merlin said, “you couldn't say he's ugly. He's... buff and blond and has nice blue eyes, so, no, he's not ugly.” Merlin stopped himself before he could add any more fuel to Elena's subtle insinuation. Arthur wasn't bad looking. Refuting his good looks would come across as suspicious. That would be him downplaying Arthur's looks because he didn't want anybody to think he could possibly be attracted to him. So in order to play the perfect counter move to Elena's inquisitiveness, Merlin openly admitted that Arthur's looks were fine, but added, “But looks aren't everything, are they?”

Elena's smiled dimmed. “I suppose not.”

Satisfaction buzzed through Merlin. He'd won this round.

He'd have said something else to round off his nice little statement when Gilli tugged on his sleeve and said, “Merlin, sorry to wrest you from your girlfriend, but--”

“She's not,” Merlin tried to say, heat creeping up his neck and to his face where it flourished in the form of a blush.

Elena smiled a goofy smile and bobbed her head up and down. “I'm not.”

“Well, um,” Gilli continued, “there's a pool table upstairs and I wanted to ask you if you wanted to have a game?”

“I'll even bet on Merlin,” Myror said.

Seeing as how he'd taken Elena aside and ignored the guys he'd invited out for a drink for the best part of ten minutes as he talked about Arthur to his friend, Merlin didn't see how he could refuse. He smiled and said, “Why not?”

That was how Merlin ended up playing pool till closing time and losing twenty quid betting against Gilli.

Arthur stepped out of the chauffeured car and stalked up the stairs to Morgana's Surrey mansion. Once inside, he shuffled off his coat and handed it, together with the scarf the weather had made imperative, to the butler.

After some cursory and aimless wandering indulged in because facing Morgana made him experience sudden bursts of avoidance, he met Morgana in the drawing room. She looked good tonight, every inch the glam princess. She had on a knee-length dress that shimmered as it moved, a retro, twenties vibe to it. Her hair hung in curls around her shoulders, though, no flapper hair cut for her. Morgana liked to say that she'd dare anything to pull off a look she wanted, but she'd always seemed particularly attached to those long black tresses of hers. Arthur understood why; they complimented her face. Framed by those curls, Morgana didn't need any jewellery to stand out.

In fact, tonight she wasn't wearing any. Her only ornament was her beauty and she, sadly, knew it. 

When she saw him, Morgana left the piano bench she was sharing with Taliesin von Stroheim. She glided smoothly towards him. 

Arthur smirked and waited for her to hook her arm around his. 

“Hello, Arthur,” she said, guiding Arthur by the arm so they were taking a tour of the room. “Such a pleasure to see you here.”

Arthur chuckled. “You'd have gouged my eyes out if I hadn't come.”

Morgana nodded her head loftily at one of the new arrivals, then reprised her conversation with him. “Of course,” she said, her voice sounding light and slightly mocking. “You've left me alone to court the benefactors who finance the RPO. I think I deserve at least some recognition.”

“I've been busy,” Arthur said, “or have you missed the fact that I conducted a concert last week and that we're planning a Haydn week?”

“Not at all,” said Morgana, turning him around so they could pace the room in the opposite direction. “I actually was there for part of the concert. Had to go because I had to humour my companion. Cenred doesn't quite like classical music.”

Arthur hummed. “So did you enjoy the Bach?”

Morgana scrunched up her nose. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

Arthur snorted. “I think you know me better than that, sis.”

“Actually, I don't,” Morgana said, digging her nails in his arms. “I think you're very proud but you also like to hear the world singing your praises.”

“That's preposterous.”

“Well, I'll give you one thing,” said Morgana, stopping their meanderings. “Your soloist was divine and cute to boot.”

Arthur had difficulty articulating the indignation he felt. “Merlin? Cute! And that was all you took away from the concert?”

Morgana tutted. “Now, now, I can appreciate a well-executed piece of music as much as the next person.” Her nose wrinkled some more. “Frankly, rather better than the average person because I was nurtured in a music loving family. There's you. While Uther's not a musician he knows the art and was always a music lover. Ygraine--” Morgana trailed off, choosing to be sensitive for once and not broach the topic of his mother's untimely demise. “But I have eyes to see, as has von Stroheim. Your soloist – Merlin is very cute.”

Arthur puffed up his cheeks and blew up air. “Von Stroheim is, what, sixty? I'll have you know Merlin has barely been spat out by RCM. He's a fresh graduate. That's skeevy.”

“Calm down, Arthur,” Morgana said, patting down his arm. “One would almost think your hackles are rising because you're marking your territory.”

“Now don't be ludicrous,” Arthur said, feeling hot about the face. Merlin was, as Morgana had said, a cute boy for sure. He had sweet, sparkly eyes and sinful, sinful lips. He was a rather striking contrast of the bumbling and the hot. That said, Arthur wasn't about to make goo goo eyes at an admittedly somewhat attractive bloke after clapping eyes on him only once. Things like that didn't happen. Not unless they were very short term relationships that couldn't influence his career, quickies even. And while Arthur had been party to a few in his life, he'd been careful never to let them happen on the workplace. That was how reputations were destroyed. “He's just one of the many violinists performing for the RPO.”

Morgana clicked her tongue and pursed her red lips. “Mmm, he's not just a violinist, though. He has quite the touch.”

Arthur scowled.

“What are you thinking!” Morgana said, punching him on the arm. “Not that way! Though actually I wouldn't mind getting to know him better. Musicians are always so fascinating! I assume that you didn't think to bring him along?”

Arthur didn't believe Morgana about wanting to meet Merlin just because she thought him a good player. While her knowledge of music was extensive for someone who could at most play a few tunes, she was more interested in other sides of the business like fund raising. She loved getting funds to get projects going. And she loved bedding budding talent. Arthur didn't really think Merlin would fare well with her. He wasn't a rich benefactor to squeeze dry and sexually Morgana would eat him alive.

The idea of those two together made his sluggish blood run faster. And Morgana had most certainly nothing to do with that, though she'd be the one to notice if Arthur let go a bit more, if he flushed, or god forbid, his trousers tented. That was the kind of visual he didn't want to provide his sister. “I told you, Morgana,” Arthur said with as superior a tone as he could muster. “Merlin was just a one-off.”

Morgana arched her eyebrow. It spiked into a killer arc.

Arthur cleared his throat. “What I meant was that he was just a one-off performer. A substitute. Not someone you're likely to see again.”

“I do think you can book him for another concert, though,” said Morgana. She frowned, a line splitting her pale brow in two. “Unless your poor manners have scared him away!”

“They haven't!” said Arthur, purposefully not mentioning his and Merlin's disagreement. “We parted on perfectly good terms.”

“Then get him to perform again,” said Morgana, eyeing her guests. “And then get him to come to one of my parties. All my guests loved him. Morgause called him a naïve virtuoso. And you know how harsh she usually is judging music.”

“That's neither here nor there,” said Arthur, grabbing a glass of white wine from a passing waiter. “We have no need for another substitute this season,” he said. “I'd like to think Muirden will get over his flu quite quickly.” Especially now that Merlin had been such a success. No violinist wanted to be a second fiddle, pun intended. “There just won't be any need to have Merlin again.”

Unfortunately, dissuading Morgana away from a pet project did prove to be quite impossible. “I was talking to von Stroheim about funding a series of concerts geared towards introducing younger people to the world of classical music. I talked to your Artistic Director the other morning and he said he loves the idea if it only wouldn't eat away at his budget.” All this seemed pretty much apropos of nothing given the tenor of their previous conversation, but then Morgana went in for the kill. “I'm sure that if Merlin was on board, Taliesin would be more prone to shell out the money required for that string of concerts.”

Arthur knew how the world of music patronage worked but he couldn't allow for Morgana's meddling. So he said, outraged, “Morgana!”

“Arthur,” Morgana purred. “Think about it. This way everyone wins. Do it for classical music.”

Morgana knew what a low blow that was. How he'd always championed classical music. “I--”

“Your mother would do the same,” she told him, smirking primly.

Arthur gritted his teeth. He wanted to ignore Morgana in as nonchalant and smooth a way as possible, but her below the belt blow had ruffled his feathers. The problem was that Morgana knew him too well and had a knack for playing people that should be declared illegal. Even so Arthur tried to salvage his sangfroid as much as he could. 

“I know his uncle,” Arthur conceded. This wasn't taking the bait. He was simply mediating. Seeing the benefit in her proposal and granting her a little victory. Most probably all this would come to nothing. Taliesin von Stroheim would move on to his next prodigy and Arthur would be free to conduct violinists who had more standing than Merlin (and who didn't come in late or wear preposterous clothing).

“Perfect,” she said, snagging Arthur's glass away from him. “Talk to him. I'm sure Merlin will be eager.”

“You just want to pimp him out in exchange for donations.”

Morgana covered her heart with her hand in a move likely copied from some singer or other playing the lead role in La Bohème. She mimed the words, “Who moi?” then drained Arthur's glass and placed it on top of a rather expensive console that would forever be ruined because of her action. Sometimes she was that much of a wastrel. It came with the territory. Like Arthur, Morgana came from money. With such a background it was easy to consider objects, however valuable, infinitely replaceable.

No longer encumbered with the glass, Morgana shepherded him over to a cluster of her guests.

Arthur sucked in a breath and attempted to force the tension in his neck away. While he certainly wasn't a social recluse, he didn't love these gatherings. He found them empty and boring. Morgana's guests were self-professed music lovers, but despite sharing his passion for the art, they were staid and not genuinely passionate about the object of their love. They acted as though their profession of love elevated them above the working classes. They used it as a shield rather than enjoying their hobby for the sake of it. These people always made him feel ill at ease as if, despite being close to hitting thirty, he was still a boy playing dress up. As if he was trying to play the role of traditional conductor to please them.

Tonight Morgana's guests were bothering him even more than usual. Out of the group of six people he'd been introduced to, five had been to Wednesday's concert and all of them had only nice words to say about Merlin. He was called a great find and a young virtuoso. They all wished to hear more from him. Arthur's own conducting was praised as well, but somehow or other the discourse always went back to Merlin.

Arthur had a sneaking suspicion the guests' praises were more of a result of Merlin's endearing stage manner than of the 'raw, unfettered power' of his art. Arthur could readily acknowledge that Merlin had talent in spades but he wasn't sure these people actually knew enough to gauge it. Still, he didn't challenge Morgana's guests' viewpoint lest he was accused of sounding jealous. 

Mrs Dochraid was saying, “I have never been so moved by a performance before. I had tears in my eyes, tears.”

Arthur nodded politely, catching Morgana’s canny grin and doing his best to act as though it didn't faze him one bit.

“Will he play at Cadogan Hall again?” Mrs Dochraid asked, flicking her black oriental fan back and forth.

“Sponsor,” Morgana mouthed from behind the rim of a second glass she had seemingly got out of nowhere.

“I will try and get the director to book him again.” Arthur would at least nominally try. He would do so because Merlin seemed to already have an audience. If these people were ready to buy a ticket to listen to Merlin then Arthur would try and provide them with more Merlin. More tickets sold did mean an increase of the budget at their disposal. He could probably stomach Merlin's happy, puppyish manners and lackadaisical behaviour for the time it took them to organise another soirée. Maybe when the time came the artistic director or the board would retract their interest in Merlin.

For now Arthur accepted Merlin as a conversation subject because it made Morgana's guests happy. It was the polite thing to do.

With more inane chatter as the order of the day, Morgana's rather boring soiree continued. Arthur moved from group to group and conversation to conversation. Like Morgana, he made ample use of the champagne at the guests' disposal. 

He wasn't indulging, he didn't want people to think him a drunkard, but sipping at his glass from time to time gave him something to do when the conversation inevitably lagged. (And it would; he didn't have much in common with these people.)

Besides, tipsiness helped him cope with the monotony of the evening and even loosened his tongue a bit. Made him more convivial. Strictly speaking he didn't become chattier when slightly in his cups, but interaction with perfect strangers did get to be less like a chore. It suddenly became something he'd forget come morning. 

He was engaging a couple of chamber music lovers, and thus performing his duty as brother of the hostess as Morgana saw it, when he was distracted by his father's arrival. 

Uther had Catrina on his arm and was wearing a shuttered, extremely unamused expression. Arthur wondered why his father kept coming if he found this kind of social interaction so distasteful. Being involved was something Arthur was compelled to do. 

To have a following, classical musicians and conductors had to cultivate their own brand of fan. Theirs was less likely to use the internet to interact but they had their rituals and most of those were of the brand Morgana was great at catering to, worldly events like this one, private concerts, galas. 

Yet being there wasn't a necessity if you weren't fighting on behalf of classical music. His father could have declined.

Arthur's father didn't have to make himself sociable if he didn't like this kind of set up. Arthur was perpetually wondering at his levels of participation and asking himself why he subjected himself to these ordeals.

Yet he wasn't curious enough to tackle his father on the subject and most certainly not when he was in a grumpy mood about something. In order to avoid a confrontation with his father, Arthur feigned interest in the conversation he had going with the duo of chamber music lovers. He was commenting on Dvořák’s _String Quartet No 12_ when Uther came up to him.

He cleared his throat and Arthur found that, short of committing a social faux pas, he'd have to introduce him to his companions.

“This is my father, Uther Pendragon,” Arthur said, angling his body towards him. Turning a little towards his father's companion, Arthur added, "And this is his friend, Ms Catrina Tregore.” Arthur once again shifted his body to take in his father. “Father, these are Lynette and Balin Fox Gorre. They are patrons to the Philharmonic.”

“Ha, I see,” said Uther, the downward turn of his mouth revealing that he wasn't impressed. “I've met many a one in my life; none of them has ever had a mind for business.”

“But surely,” said Mrs Fox Gorre, rather confused by Arthur's father stern approach, “some things shouldn't be governed only by business interests. Like a love for the arts.”

Uther snorted. “Nonsense, you couldn't be a patron without money. Money is what everything else boils down to.”

“I'm afraid, sir,” said Mr Fox Gorre, taking the baton from his wife, “that we can't agree on the subject.”

“No, indeed, we can't,” Lynette said in support of her husband.

“That's your prerogative, of course,” said Uther, Catrina nodding in the background. “It doesn't change the harsh realities of life.”

“No, we can't argue that,” Mr Fox Gorre agreed, “but--”

“And since passion can't help anyone face those,” Uther steamed over his interlocutor, “I'd rather promote good sense.”

“Good sense in the musical world?” Mr Fox Gorre asked. “I don't see how you can apply it to art.”

“I can,” said Uther, sticking his chest out. “Take Arthur as an example. He's had an offer from an American ensemble. There's good money in it, but he won't accept it. That's where sentimentality goes against good sense.”

“I stay where I am because I'm grateful to those who gave me a job in spite of my youth and relative lack of fame,” Arthur said, pitching in even though he hadn't meant to. It was his father who had dragged him into it. “And you know that.”

Uther turned sharply on him. “That's all fine and dandy, Arthur. What I'm saying is recognise the debt you owe, be thankful and move on.”

“That would be extremely disloyal of me.”

“Disloyal, disloyal,” said Uther, scoffing. “Contracts are business transactions. Not to be confused with sentiment. Don't think they helped you out of the goodness of their hearts. They saw your talent...”

As Arthur's father ranted on, the Fox Gorres, clearly at a loss for what to do, dropped away and dissolved into the crowd. 

Arthur spent the better part of ten minutes trying to argue with his father, explaining his position and why he wouldn't betray the RPO, why he owed them a debt of loyalty that should stand whatever he stood to gain. He maintained the RPO had always been fair in its dealings with him. That was true even though Arthur wasn't the highest paid conductor out there. At last, exasperated, Arthur said, “I don't understand why you hate what I do so much when it's not that different from what Mother was doing when she was at her most alive and yet you loved her for it.”

That froze Uther. “I see we'll never see eye to eye,” he said, offering his arm to Catrina, and walking off with his back to Arthur.

His father's behaviour left Arthur dumbfounded but at least it freed him from having to contest his point further at a social gathering. They could postpone the row that had become more and more likely to happen to a time and place where there would be no witnesses.

A little sadder because of the words he'd just exchanged with his father, Arthur decided that he'd better mingle some more to wash away the bitter taste his interactions with his father invariably left in his mouth. He wasn't a party person but sometimes party people could take your mind off your worries.

Now free from his father's clutches, Arthur wondered over towards Mr Monmouth, another one of Morgana's esteemed guests and a long-time music lover. 

Mr Monmouth was ancient. In Arthur's memory he'd always been old, even when Arthur was a child himself. Despite his age Mr Monmouth was very sprightly, still bustled about, flitting between galas and concerts, and, unlike most rich people Arthur knew, had a genuine love and understanding of music. 

When Arthur crossed over to him, Mr Monmouth smiled benignly. “Wednesday's concert was quite memorable, Arthur,” Mr Monmouth said as he slowly lifted himself from the chair he'd been occupying. “Your mother would have loved it.”

“I’m sure she would have loved some parts of it,” Arthur said. “But I'm telling myself she would have wanted me to do even better.” Arthur couldn't be sure this was true. His idea of his mother was more or less a construct of his own. He'd been too young to discuss the subjects that were now close to his heart with her. He'd been too young then, little more than a toddler. So all he had to go on were vague concepts he himself had decided were the truth. As for his performance he was sure that if he himself could detect his own shortcomings, then his mother, who had been the most proficient violinist of her age, would surely have picked them out too. 

“Nonsense, young chap,” Monmouth said, clapping him on the shoulder in a fatherly way that was somehow foreign to Arthur's own father. “You're selling yourself short. She would have been proud.”

Debating this point would have sounded like humble bragging, so Arthur didn't. “You’re very kind,” he said instead, smiling a little sadly. “I hope I could have made her proud.”

“I'm sure she would have loved every moment of the other night,” the old man said, full of conviction, his body coming alive with it even though these days any form of very brisk vital effort seemed to come as a hardship. “Just as much as the audience did.” 

“Somehow I think pleasing it is easier.” He didn't say why. That he thought his mother had had superb taste – if recordings of her performances were anything to go by – and that she would have been more of a connoisseur than anyone sitting in the boxes of Cadogan Hall could ever be. Formulating that idea out loud would have been offensive and dismissive of his public. But he let the implication fall off his lips.

Monmouth didn't seem to mind. The corners of his mouth slid upwards. “Sometimes we can be our own harshest critics.” He wagged his eyebrows meaningfully. “As for myself I'm quite a fan of yours.” 

“Thank you,” Arthur said, one of his hands doing the back and forth on his neck. “I appreciate your... appreciation.”

Mr Monmouth chuckled. “And I'm not the only fan you've gathered. There's good old Taliesin who's spoken to me about how much he'd love to have a repeat of Wednesday's concert.”

Arthur saw that the heavens were conspiring against him. He'd really have to grab a hold of Gaius tomorrow.

A ray of light hit Merlin square in the face. He scrunched up his nose and tried to burrow under the pillow so he could snooze a while longer. It was no use, though. The light had been enough to tell him it was morning and that he should stop lazing about. Because of it he was half awake and feeling guilty.

Maybe he should get a move on. 

With an eye closed and the other one only partway open, Merlin glanced over at the clock. It was 9:00 a.m. The sun proper still seemed to be hiding away behind a wall of clouds, which was typical of the season, but there was enough light to be unmistakeably, most decidedly morning.

He should do something. Up and at 'em. But his bed was ever so warm.

Perhaps he could lie in his comfy bed a while longer.

Merlin had just decided to do so for at least ten minutes more when the doorbell rang. If he wasn't wrong the person ringing was trying to hint at the first notes of Elena's favourite song with their syncopating pressing of the doorbell button. 

Grumbling a little under his breath, Merlin left the cocoon of blankets to open the door. 

Elena looked pretty chirpy standing on the other side of the threshold. She was wielding a patisserie bag and a copy of _The Telegraph_. “I brought breakfast and reviews.”

While Merlin was looking forward to the breakfast part of the offering he wasn't eager to read the reviews of his first important musical performance ever. If the review tore him apart he didn't think his self-esteem could take it. He was sure that he had a bit of a gift when it came to playing but he wasn't positive that it was a universally likeable one. Merlin was just starting out; he was afraid that one virulent review would drive him into stage fright. Getting a fear of performing would be the worst thing that could happen to him because performing was what a violinist was all about. “Elena, I'm not sure I--” He closed the door behind him, watching as Elena made her way to his kitchenette table. “That is I--”

Elena toed off her Converse, put the bag full of confectionery on the table, and plonked down on the first chair available. Nose into the confectionery bag she said, “Now don't be chicken, Merlin.” She bit off the head of a chocolate roll. Chewing, she added, “I know you're going to be very famous so you'll have to get used to reading reviews of your work.”

Merlin scuffed his socked toes on the floor. “To get famous I need to please the critics first,” Merlin said, hanging his head. “And somehow I don't think I'm stuffy enough for them. To make them like me, you know.”

Elena swallowed. “You know everyone loves you.”

“My friends do,” said Merlin, making a point he thought of as valid. “That's got zero to do with what pros are going to think.”

“But you'll never know what they think unless you have a look,” said Elena, patting the chair next to hers and making big eyes at him. “Come on! I promise I'll hold your hand.”

“Mmm,” Merlin said, not wanting to commit to a 'yes'.

“I have an éclair here waiting for you if you stop being so cowardly about this and come here.”

Tempted by dreams of chocolate and sugar Merlin padded over to her.

Elena opened the newspaper and settled on the page the review was on.

Merlin's nose wrinkled. “You've read it already, haven't you! You had the page number by heart.”

“And what if I have?” Elena asked, rolling her eyes and blowing an errant wisp of blonde hair off her forehead. It settled backwards on her temple like a fluffy wisp of cloud.

Merlin mangled his shirt hem with some frantic pawing. “Well, you could tell me what it says and save me some heartache?”

Elena looked at him with soulful green eyes. “We're pals, aren't we? Trust me.”

So Merlin sat down next to Elena and tentatively read the title of the review. “ _Merlin Emrys has something precious and rare,”_ it said.

Merlin turned to Elena. “Is that where they say I have a rare mental illness or something to be so stupid as to perform somewhere that big with a non-existent CV?”

“Charity concerts and student performances still count,” said Elena, staunchly fingering the page. “Now read this or I'll do it for you.”

Merlin read. _“Break-out violinist Merlin Emrys makes the strongest possible case for Bach's Partita No. 2. While the young fiddler may have surprised the crowd with his bumbling gait and big smiles, – he lolloped on stage with a pace reminiscent of that of a young colt--”_ Merlin stopped reading, blushing furiously. “Is this going to get much, much worse?”

Elena was in the middle of attacking a second chocolate roll, sugar sticking to the corners of her mouth, when she stopped licking at the cocoa cream to reassure him. “No, that's not the bit I was talking about. Go on. I promise you, it's worth it.”

Merlin continued only because he knew Elena to be candid and generally trustworthy. _“But don't let yourself be misled by Emrys' naïf charm, because Emrys knows what he's doing. In Emrys' hands Bach's Partita, whose last movement is straining towards being a declaration of lost love, was much more noble than sentimental. There are moments in this tapestry of different moods that is the Partita no.2 when a dainty melody breaks in on a much more energetic one, the variations playing one upon the other. The overall sound could come across as moody and nostalgic, a hymn to lost love, but it turns out to be the kind of tune to which fairies at the bottom of the garden might dance. Emrys' execution isn't fanciful though. It's thoughtful, exact and sculpted. His delicate charm wreaths a spell on the air even while he never forgets technique.”_ Merlin smiled a big smile. Being found technically sound by a critic was great, brilliant, the dog's bollocks. _“With Emrys the Baroque becomes truly magical.”_

“See,” said Elena, vigorously tapping the page and staining it chocolate brown. “That's what I call a rave review. They even have nice words for that conductor of yours.”

Wanting to read Arthur's praise too, Merlin's eyes roved over to the last section of the article. _“Arthur Pendragon is one of those conductors who are deeply connected to the pieces they direct. His immersion in the music of Bach is clearly perceptible. What stood out in his conducting was a profound sense and a pitch perfect understanding of the music. His interpretive talents are deep. Pendragon knows what he wants out of the piece and conveys that to his orchestra. Like a well-oiled machine and knowing how to respond to their director's cues, the musicians delivered.”_ Merlin looked up from his reading.

“Everyone was a winner,” Elena said, beaming.

“It seems so,” Merlin said, smoothing the newspaper page as if he couldn't quite let go of it. “It was just such a brilliant experience.”

“It's such a pity it was a one-off,” Elena told him. “It would really be the perfect job for you.”

“It'll be such a long time before I get that far, Ellie,” Merlin reminded her. “That I could play at all was only a lucky coincidence.”

Elena had opened her mouth to argue when Merlin's phone rang. Merlin shrugged a shoulder at Elena, who nodded, and went to answer. “Hello,” he said.

“Merlin,” Uncle Gaius' voice sounded over the line. “I have very good news for you.”

“Oh yes, Elena told me,” Merlin said, turning towards his friend. “She brought me a copy of the paper.”

“Elena?” Gaius asked. “The paper? The news can't have leaked already. I was to put it to you first.”

“Uh?”

“I see we're talking at cross purposes,” Uncle Gaius said, sounding less than appreciative of the confusion Merlin was expressing. 

“I thought you were going on about that review in _The Telegraph_!”

Gaius fetched a sigh that resounded in Merlin's ear. “I'm not talking about that!”

“Then--”

Gaius cut Merlin off. “I'm talking about the Royal Philharmonic. They want you back.”

Merlin couldn't believe that. While the audience seemed to have liked his performance and that one critic from _The Telegraph_ seemed to have done the same, that didn't mean that Arthur, who had a say in who played for the RPO, did as well. He'd been very curt and dismissive of Merlin when last they'd talked. He wouldn't have backed such an offer. “You're joking, right?”

“Merlin, would I call you on a very busy work day if I was joking?”

Merlin had the distinct impression the question was rhetorical. “No?”

“No,” Gaius said, his voice vibrating with annoyance. “Arthur wants you back.”

Merlin still couldn't be persuaded of the fact that the man who'd dismissed him now wanted him to play at Cadogan again. “Nuh, no way. Maybe it's the Artistic Director who's interested in having me back. Maybe he read the review. Arthur himself didn’t seem all that impressed with me.”

Gaius tutted over the phone. “Merlin, what difference does it make whether it's the artistic director or Arthur who wants you back?"

Oddly enough Merlin thought that it made a huge difference. Despite having practically quarrelled with Arthur and thinking him a stuck up prat Merlin would have loved for Arthur to have appreciated him enough to ask him back. Whatever Arthur may be, he had a fine sense of music, and Merlin respected his opinion. Moreover, when he'd approached him after the concert, he had wanted to make up with him. Arthur's rebuff had hurt, and knowing that Arthur didn't fully despise him would have lifted a weight off his chest. “No difference, I suppose,” he said, knowing he was rationalising. 

“Well, what matters is that you have a shot at a fast climbing career now.”

Merlin couldn't see that far ahead but he was excited at the prospect of playing for an audience like the one at Cadogan Hall again. His dreams didn't encompass huge success. He'd just be happy to play for appreciative ears. 

“Oi, Gaius, let's not exaggerate,” Merlin said. “This would just be a beginning. How many nights would they want me for?”

“What I've been told is that they want you for a series of themed concerts.”

Merlin thought that would be fantastic. He'd be given a huge chance but it wouldn't be so overwhelming as to scare him shitless. “Gaius, you know there's no need to ask me. Of course I want to play for the Royal Philharmonic again!”

“Well, then I'll tell Arthur you're on board.”

“Yes, please,” Merlin said, dancing off his toes he was so charged by the news.

“We'll negotiate the terms of contract once we have the details settled,” said Gaius, ticking off the steps they ought to take. Merlin wasn't listening to the particulars; he'd do those concerts for nothing if they let him.

“Merlin, are you even listening to me?”

Merlin grinned and said, “Yeah. I'm just-- I'll be okay with whatever, really. Just tell them that I will play for them.”

“I'll do some negotiating nonetheless,” said Gaius sombrely. “I'll let you know in a couple of days.”

“Just promise to be quick about it,” said Merlin shuffling from toe to toe. “I really want to get to work.”

“The youth of today,” Gaius said. “Always impatient.” With that, Gaius hung up.

Merlin put the phone back on its base and when he lifted his eyes it was to meet Elena's curious ones. 

“Well?” she asked.

Merlin grinned. “I'm to play for the RPO again!”

Elena jumped to her feet, squealing. She rushed over and jumped him, her legs going around his middle, nearly throwing him off his balance. “I knew it, I knew it,” she said at the top of her lungs. “You'll become world famous!”

Arthur's gaze roved across the as yet empty practice studio, his fingers tapping against the top of a pile of scores. The RPO's Artistic Director had given him licence to choose which pieces he'd like to introduce to the new programme Taliesin von Stroheim was financing.

He'd been given a few guidelines: he'd have to go for something that could entice the largest numbers of concert goers possible, choose a programme that was new, and find a repertoire that allowed Merlin to shine. Not exactly as easy a feat to perform as many laymen would think, especially considering that he knew nothing of Merlin's strengths.

He was chucking score upon score as not exactly fitting his vision, when he heard someone say, “Arthur.”

Arthur turned his head. “Yes, who is it?”

“It's me, Merlin,” the voice said as someone stepped into the practice studio. “Emrys, that is. I came in to sign the contract and they told me to nip by so I could talk to you.”

Arthur tensed in recognition. He'd been so distracted that he hadn't recognised Merlin's voice even though Arthur felt he should have been able to pick it out anywhere after their initial altercation. Apparently not. “Merlin, I--” Arthur started.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked, walking towards the piano Arthur was using as prop for his paperwork.

“Working,” said Arthur, wiping at his brow. “It seems pretty self-evident.”

Merlin propped his elbows on the piano lid, and his chin in his hands. He looked like a giddy school kid that way. “Are you choosing the programme all on your own?”

Arthur chucked another score; that selection had been done already. “I've had guidelines, but both our Artistic Director, Mr Cador, and programme manager have decided that this one is on me.”

“Tough.” Merlin winced. “Can I help?”

Arthur wanted to butt his head against the piano lid. He didn't want to make pals with Merlin. He just wanted to settle on a programme. At least for the first concert they were scheduled to give. And while, yes, he needed to ask Merlin what he was most comfortable playing, he was also unsettled by Merlin and didn't want him around too long. His music was too beautiful and his personality too grating for Arthur to reconcile. “No, just tell me which piece you're best at and we'll leave it at that.”

Merlin picked up one of the scores Arthur had discarded. “And don't tell me you want that one?”

“Now I want to say yes just to rub you the wrong way.”

Arthur looked up at Merlin's grin. His lips were twitching but his eyes were most definitely sparking with the fire of challenge. “So you take some sort of perverse pride in being contrary?”

“No, I wouldn't go as far as to say that,” Merlin told him, tipping his head to the side, his air still insouciant. “But when people seem to like to pick on me, then I tend to retaliate. Can't check the impulse.”

“How was I even picking on you!” Really, Merlin was an exasperating one. He was the one who'd interrupted Arthur, and instead of helping he was making Arthur waste time. Merlin's interruption would cost him dear in terms of planning. And here Merlin was refusing to just pick a piece he was good at and go.

“I offered to help and you just shut me down.”

Arthur's temple throbbed. He massaged it slowly, hoping to ease the unpleasant sensation. “Just give me something and I'll come up with a coherent programme.”

“But what is it you want to do?” Merlin asked, biting on his lip, wetting and re-wetting it. 

Arthur shook his head. He wanted to come up with the perfect programme so he would be able to sell tickets, which would finance the next season, just so he wouldn't be subject to more patron interference, the kind of meddling which had got him Merlin in the first place. “I just want an innovative, cohesive best seller of a programme.”

“You settle for little.”

This time Arthur couldn't stop from smiling, just a tad. “Yeah, you could say that.” He looked away so as not to share his mild amusement with Merlin. Merlin was so open and friendly he might take sharing a moment as an invitation to be even more matey with Arthur. “I just want the RPO to do well. We have some competition in the shape of the London Symphony and the London Philharmonic. I can't discount that.”

“I can understand that,” said Merlin in a smaller, more sober voice. Finally Arthur found Merlin's tone appropriate to the situation.

“Yes, well, now you know why it's so important for me to succeed.”

Merlin nodded like a proper little school boy but then smiled teasingly again. “So you need me to do well?”

“I most certainly hope the other week wasn't a one-off and that you're consistently good.” God, Arthur's worst nightmare was Merlin's success having been a fluke.

Merlin leant closer, nearly climbing the piano. Eyes narrowed, he said, “So you admit I was good?”

“I'll admit people liked you and that you have a certain love of music they clearly picked up on.”

Merlin snorted. His lips curled as if torn between teasing and honest bafflement. “You really have a hard time praising people.”

Arthur protested, “No, I don't. I praise people all the time.” He truly did. He'd done it often in the past. “People I know well enough to have the measure of them.” His voice wavered as he sought names he could list as cases in point. “Mithian Nemeth, for example, is an outstanding performer. Much better than you. More seasoned, certainly.”

“I love her, I have her CDs and I agree,” said Merlin, not seeming stung by Arthur preferring another violinist to him. “So it's just me then? It's just me you don't like?”

Now that Merlin thought he'd been especially singled out for Arthur's dislike, his voice took a dip towards the disconsolate and Arthur hated it. Actually he wasn't sure whether he hated Merlin's tone because it made him feel like a heel or because it preyed on his conscience. Arthur wasn't a monster. He just had standards that Merlin was too new to the profession to understand. “I'm strict about the performance level and commitment I require. Once I'm satisfied that an artist gets it, then I'll be readier to praise them.”

After a moment's brief consideration, Merlin nodded and started rooting among his music sheets. “This,” he said, pushing the score towards Arthur, “is one of the pieces I love the most. I know it like the back of my hand.”

Arthur's eyes fell on the score. “Wieniawski's _Polonaise No. 2?_ ” Arthur asked. The piece Merlin had gone for was one of the last compositions of Wieniawski's life. That didn't matter so much as the fact that it wasn't performed as often as its antecedent. 

The _No. 2_ was a decidedly long and difficult piece. Violinists of lower rank and ability tended to avoid it like the plague because it was a trap that made flubbing inevitable. Because of its length, it was also regarded as unsuitable for quick and flashy concert finales. Those flashy finales were usually big crowd pleasers that would get attendees to contemplate coming in for more classical concerts. They were what the RPO had told him to give them.

While pondering this suggestion Arthur would also have to consider the fact that the _No. 2_ was too much of a product of its time. Brilliant but less flexible and tightly crafted than Wieniawski's earlier work, it wasn't exactly a composition for a modern audience. 

Arthur was afraid the public would view it as boring. Still, he'd been told to come up with something that would make Merlin shine. If fine-spun violinistic fireworks were the goal here, then the Polonaise was the perfect choice. 

It even had a charm of its own, especially in the middle section. The dolce e tranquillo melody that characterised it gave it a certain remarkable beauty. And if Merlin was half as good as he'd seemed the other night, this could potentially be glorious. “Odd choice.”

“I just...” Merlin said, seemingly getting tongue tied over the reasons for his love of this particular polonaise. “I love it.”

“All right,” Arthur said. “It will be a less obvious option but I can make it work if I choose a less dated piece to give it dynamic contrast.” He nodded to himself. “Do you want a full orchestra accompaniment or do you just want Elyan with you?”

“I'll have to go for a piano,” said Merlin, chin jutting out as though his facial expression confirmed the validity of his choice. “It's the orchestration I love better.”

“You'll have your piano,” Arthur said, patting the lid of the one he was leaning against. And since Merlin's preference was giving him ideas, he added, “You're going to be preceded by Weber's _Oberon Overture_.”

“Unconventional and romantic,” Merlin said, his lips quirked at him. “A fairy king and lots of medieval legend. Different from the Polonaise.”

“That's exactly what I wanted,” Arthur said, seeing Merlin had an instinct for what he was trying to achieve. “And then...” He rooted though the scores, looking for something thematically coherent yet different enough to stand on its own. “God, I need something quiet but that comes with an allegro finale.”

Merlin cleared his throat. “Erm, I do have a suggestion, if I can give it, that is.”

“Why, said Arthur, rolling his eyes so hard at Merlin's coyness it almost hurt, “say anything you like.”

Merlin held his eyes. “You don't have the score here.” He tapped the pile of sheets Arthur had gathered. “But we did a concert at the RCM in our last year and after the opener they played Dvořák's _Symphony No. 5_. Now it seems to me it's exactly what you're looking for. It's pastoral, it ties with the fairy theme from the Oberon and ends with an allegro. It fits, I think.”

Arthur privately agreed but was reluctant to cede further ground to Merlin. Yet his suggestion made sense. Arthur drummed his fingers on the piano, blew air through his mouth, hummed, and finally said, “All right, we have a magic-themed programme for the first concert in the new series.”

Merlin just beamed.

Merlin placed his violin under his chin and lifted his bow in preparation for Arthur's cue. When Arthur gave it to him Merlin began stroking the strings, joining in with Elyan's piano, underlying the harmonic foundation of Wieniawski's Polonaise.

Music broke the silence and filled the air. Merlin followed the score, launching into a series of long staccato fragments. He segued into the meat of the melody, getting to the abbreviated reprise, only to later tumble into the middle fragment. He was always tense about this part because of the change of key to F-major and because he had to remind himself to be mindful of the new pace, letting himself slow down when Arthur signalled him to. 

One of the things he'd always liked about this particular Polonaise was the fact that all its fragments allowed a violinist to play out the thematic similarity between the parts. The first fragment had a similar section structure to the contrasting middle section in E-major. That was something he was passionate about rendering because it gave the music a pattern that was enticing to the ear. These seeming technicalities made the music come alive and that was what Merlin loved about them: the music's power to make your heart beat faster in recognition of rhythms that gave you joy. Merlin wanted to share that elation with the audience. 

The shifting of keys he was now watching out for also allowed him to show off a bit. The level of technical difficulty required to do so was nerve-wracking but in a fun way. 

The fun was enhanced in the middle section because he got to play off of Elyan, as if they were communicating in a musical piano-violin dialogue. 

The dainty tremor of his vibrato was enthusiastic; it stammered quaintly as it pursued the accompaniment of Elyan's music. Merlin was really feeling the piece.

Arthur didn't seem impressed, though. Baton twirling, he was watching Merlin with cold, detached eyes and lips pulled together in a tight frown. That didn't seem typical. Merlin had been there for the _Oberon_ rehearsal and had come in when the orchestra was trying the Dvořák on for size. 

From his idling during those rehearsals he'd learnt one thing. When Arthur directed the others he was totally different. When signalling the rest of the orchestra, Arthur smiled in welcome, as if he was proud of his musicians, like a father. 

When he cued Merlin, he closed himself off. He looked like a bloodhound scenting a mistake on the air, as if he was expecting Merlin to make one as soon as the next difficult passage came up. 

Merlin had no idea why he acted that way. Was it because they'd quarrelled on that first day they'd met? Or because Merlin's errant comment about the stick Arthur seemingly had up his arse had soured their relations indelibly? Merlin didn't think it could still be that. 

Although Arthur had never formally accepted his apology, they'd managed to stay civil when they'd chosen the music for the first concert. Arthur had even accepted his proposal that they execute the very piece Merlin was now playing. So it couldn't be that. One would hope.

And yet there was still a marked difference between the way Arthur would interact with the others – he was almost nice to them – and the way he would deal with Merlin.

No matter how well he played, Merlin couldn’t win his praise. Merlin was starting to wonder whether Arthur just didn’t like Merlin's style or whether he just didn’t like Merlin, full stop. 

Merlin wanted to think of Arthur's animosity towards him a challenge to win Arthur's respect, but after two piano-violin rehearsals characterised by callous if not venomous looks, he was inclined to think Arthur was only looking forward to the day the string of concerts Taliesin von Stroheim had organised was done with so he could see the back of Merlin. He wondered if he’d be packing his bags after this concert.

Sucking in a deep breath, Merlin concentrated on the music. He wasn’t going to let Arthur cow him. He wouldn't be intimidated. And if Arthur thought Merlin was child enough to let a little scowling get between him and his love of music, he could think again. 

Merlin would give it his all. 

He was doing so, sliding into the Polonaise's last segment, when he heard some noise come from the back of the practice room. A young woman with sleek black hair pulled into a pony tail and big eyes entered and took a seat in the back row, acting as if the place belonged to her.

Merlin couldn't put a name to her, sure she wasn't anyone he'd met so far. Though Merlin might not have known her she was certainly familiar enough with the place – the way she acted proprietorial about it confirmed it.

Something about her – her cocky behaviour perhaps – was so reminiscent of Arthur, Merlin got so intent watching her, he flubbed a passage. 

Arthur glared deeply at him, his baton snapping punishingly in the air, but then the final notes of the melody sank lower and lower, melting into the silence of the room and calling an end to the piece. Merlin put his instrument down just as Arthur placed his baton on his stand. 

Elyan closed the score folder that sat at his eye-level.

“Elyan, you were perfect,” Arthur said, turned towards the man in question.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Elyan said, playing a happy tune on the piano. “That's great to know.” 

“It's nothing but the truth.”

Elyan picked up his score and the bottle of water he'd left on the piano. “Well, thank you again.” He shifted his weight. “Are you going to need me again?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, I don't think beating Merlin over the head with this Polonaise is going to yield better results.”

Elyan coughed. “I'll be going then.”

With Elyan exiting, Arthur, Merlin and the lady guest were the only ones left in the practice room.

This seemed to give Arthur more freedom. He cocked his head at Merlin and said, “You on the other hand, you missed. You played a bunch of notes out of tune.”

Merlin couldn't say that he hadn't. “I, well--”

“I hope you're not planning to do that before an audience.”

“I--”

“Because otherwise we'll become the laughing stock of the whole of London,” Arthur continued harping on his theme. “Of the musical world even.”

The lady who'd been sitting in the audience came up to Arthur's stand. “Brother, dear, it was my fault. I came in towards the end.”

“That's irrelevant,” Arthur said, gesticulating fiercely as if he still had that baton in his hand. “He can't make mistakes like that.” Cupping his chin in his hand, he arched a severe eyebrow at him, looking for all the world like Merlin's Year Nine teacher, Mr Congreve. “What happens if during the concert someone coughs, or some annoying twit tries to get to the bathroom mid performance? What are you going to do then, Merlin? Stop if the door creaks? Flub it again?”

“No, I--” Merlin was saying. He was stuttering as he never had in his life.

“Not all audiences are respectful, you know,” Arthur was saying, speaking over Morgana, who was trying to edge a word in. “You have to learn to play over that. Be in your own world when you perform. Somewhere nobody can touch you.”

Merlin personally thought that if Arthur hadn't thrown him off his game by scowling throughout his practice session Merlin could have caught himself before missing the beat and messing up those notes. But he agreed about one thing; he had to do better. During his first concert for the RPO he'd managed to play well despite that event having come on the heels of his and Arthur's first row. He could most certainly repeat the performance. Stay calm as he had then. “I can play the Polonaise without flubbing, I promise. I know I can.” 

“Good, because I want nothing less than perfection from you.”

“Arthur,” Arthur's sister said, putting a placating hand on Arthur's arm, “now that you're done chewing poor Emrys' head off, I would like to be introduced.”

Merlin opened his mouth. He had no idea how this glamorous woman knew him, but it was nice to find that she was polite at least. Unlike her brother. Pre-empting Arthur, he said, “Hello, I'm Merlin.”

“Perkily cute and well-mannered,” Arthur's sister said. “I'm Morgana, Arthur's sister, sadly enough, but I'm also already a big fan of yours.”

“How?” Merlin asked, his previous tendency to stammering not having left yet. He somehow didn't think Morgana had attended one of the charity student concerts he'd given for the Royal College of Music at different venues. They couldn't count. Those were still undergrad work. He wasn't positive someone like Morgana would go see those. His only claim to scant fame was his RPO performance. “I mean, I'm not exactly famous.”

“Oh but you're getting there,” Morgana said with a certain note of glee. “I was here when you soloed. Very impressive. Taliesin wouldn't stop talking about you.”

Arthur grimaced. “Morgana!”

“What, it's true!”

Merlin must have goggled the slightest little bit. “You mean the patron who's funding this series of concerts?”

“The very same,” Morgana said, sidling up to him with a very conspiratorial air. “We were both enchanted by your playing and would love it if you came by my house one of these evenings. I'm giving a soirée on the twentieth and having you as guest would be an extra enhancement.”

Unmindful of the clothes he was wrinkling, Arthur grabbed Morgana by the arm and pulled her by his side. “Morgana, you don't know him. You can hardly do that.”

“Do what?” Morgana waggled her sharp eyebrows. “Invite your soloist along for an evening when I know for sure that at least one of my friends – who's also one of your benefactors – would be delighted to have him?”

Arthur crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Morgana. “I bet that's all there is behind your ask,” he said. “And that's a no.” He waved his hand at Merlin. “He's got to practice, not to hobnob around.”

“He won't be practising on a Friday night two weeks ahead of the concert, I presume,” Morgana said, two little lines forming around her mouth.

Arthur stuttered.

Merlin intervened. “Oi, I think I'm old enough to know whether I want to accept this invite or no.”

Arthur blew his cheeks out. “It's 'invitation',” Arthur said, peevishly correcting Merlin's grammar.

“And the contract I'm under doesn't say I should become a hermit on a Friday night.”

Arthur spluttered, a little spittle flying. “No, of course not, but you don't know my sister and her meddling ways. Believe me when I say you don't want to have to deal with that world.”

“Because I'm so far beneath it?”

Arthur threw his hands up in the air. “Fine, do as you want, you'll see.” With that he grabbed his things, and made his way towards the door. 

“Don't mind my brother,” Morgana said, winking. “He's just a little bit proprietorial when it comes to his musicians.”

“I'm not his,” Merlin pointed out. “I'm just a guest soloist.”

“And I'm telling you,” Arthur said, not exiting as he must have meant, “that it's not a good idea.”

“I see we think alike, Merlin,” said Morgana, looking shrewdly up at Merlin. “Be there on the twentieth. I'll make sure that you get an invitation by tomorrow.”

“Morgana, you can't!” Arthur was calling after her. 

But Morgana wasn't paying attention to her brother. She was walking out of the practice room, the rapid click of her heels marking her exit. Before the door slammed shut again she said, “See you both at mine.”

Merlin turned to his violin. He laid it gently in its case, loosening the hair of his bow, and locked it into place. He clicked the case closed and picked it up. 

“Don't give me that attitude,” Arthur was saying as though Merlin had said or done something to provoke him.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You're giving me attitude.”

Merlin was making his way to the practice room door, bypassing Arthur, who'd not yet made it there in his previous high-minded sortie attempt, when he stopped short. “I'm not giving a party a pass just because you think I'm not up to the standards your sister keeps.”

Arthur growled. “I didn't say that! I never said that!”

“But that's what you're thinking,” Merlin told Arthur without turning to face him. “And that's all that's needed to push me into accepting your sister's invite.” Merlin reprised walking towards the exit.

“What if I told you that I have another reason for not wanting you there?”

Merlin cocked his head to one side, considered that briefly, then said, “I wouldn't believe you. See you tomorrow for the rehearsal.”

Merlin left Cadogan Hall behind and walked into the breezy late afternoon air. Out on the street Elena was waiting for him. 

“Merlin,” she said, skipping up to him and greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. “I finished my shift early, and I thought I'd come pick you up.”

Merlin's bad mood evaporated almost wholly. He smiled at Elena, shrugged out of his stuffy jacket, settled his violin case on his shoulder more comfortably and said, “I'm glad you did, Ellie. I've got to let out steam.”

“Oh.” Elena's face was about to fall but then she seemed to be struck by an idea almost as soon as that happened. “Why don't we go to the pub from the other day and have a drink? Drown your sorrows?” She rubbed his sleeve. 

“I dunno,” said Merlin, walking Elena down the street. “You're the one who's always cheering me up. Shouldn't I do something for you once in a while?”

“You'll take me to see that subtitled film no one wants to come and see,” said Elena cheerfully.“That's what you're going to do for me.”

“Oh, all right, if you put it that way.” Merlin snorted. “Though that's low on your part,” he grumbled, but led Elena down Sloane Street and up the square to King's Road. 

Taking his arm, Elena asked, “So tell me, what's making you so nervous these days?”

“I flubbed,” said Merlin, as he and Elena stalked past shop windows (tearing Elena away from Warehouse wasn't easy) and bus stops. “And not just on a piece Arthur gave me to play. But on one I chose myself.”

“Which one was it?” Elena asked, done with her window ogling. “Do I know it?”

“Yes, you do,” Merlin said, saving Elena from walking right into a puddle. “It's Wieniawski's _Polonaise No 2_. The one I played at my last undergrad concert.”

“The one where you got a standing ovation?”

Merlin cringed; he hadn't meant to draw Elena's attention to that. He wasn't fishing for compliments. Still the reminder he'd done well with that exact same piece and then muffed it before Arthur was bitter-sweet. He couldn't believe he'd missed and played a note for another when in Arthur's presence of all people! “Yes, my mum's fave too, by the way.”

Elena rubbed his shoulder. “I'm so sorry. I'm sure you won't botch it again.”

“I hope so,” said Merlin. “It's just that Arthur kept scowling and I couldn't understand why and then his sister dropped by and I--” They rounded the corner and came up to the façade of the Cadogan Arms. They shuffled across the street and entered the pub. “I got distracted.”

A line had formed at the bar. Elena tugged him onwards so they could queue. “That can happen.”

“It shouldn't,” said Merlin, getting some change out of his pocket as he prepared the money for his order. He had a squished tenner in his left one. “I should be able to play on no matter the distraction.”

“The public's supposed to be quiet for the performers, though.”

Merlin and Elena inched forward along the queue. “True, but still. And now Arthur hates me even more because he thinks I'm incompetent.” Merlin's turn at the till had come. He placed his order, paying for himself and Elena. As he waited for his glass to be filled Merlin went on. “He hates me so much he was trying to prevent his sister from inviting me to a party she's giving.”

“But he can't, can he?” Elena asked, grabbing her glass when it was given her. 

“Well, he did,” Merlin said, accepting his tray and glass from the barman.

“But why are you so down about it; didn't you hate that kind of parties in uni? The one that your professor gave before the end of the last term? I remember you didn't want to go to that one.”

He and Elena found a table. Merlin put down the tray with his glass and his violin case, then sank into a chair. “Yeah,” he said. “True. But I accepted.”

Elena took the seat opposite his and giggled. “You're just going to annoy Arthur then.”

“Yeah,” Merlin admitted, taking a big pull of his drink to drown his sorrows. “Probably.”

Elena snorted. “And probably unwise in the long run. Since if he gets ticked off, he'll be more insufferable. And you're taking it bad and making mistakes.”

“So you're saying I shouldn't go?”

Elena shook her head, wisps of her hair flying about and getting soused in beer when the tips skimmed the glass. Elena pouted at the customary mishap, squeezed them dry beach-fashion and said, “Nah, you're young. You've still got a few years to be immature. Go, have fun and taunt your boss.”

Merlin laughed. “He isn't exactly my boss, you know.”

Elena joined him laughing and since Merlin's mood was lifting they stayed on and grabbed something to eat. Later still a band started playing in the corner and Merlin, mellowed by beer and food, leaned back and took to listening to music he, for once, had no part in playing. 

Life could be good, prat conductors notwithstanding.

**End of Part One**

 

**Part Two**

Rehearsals finished late that Thursday, so late most orchestra members were grumbling about it. Myror kept stressing how famished he was, Freya kept harping on about how she wouldn't have time to cook her famous roast even if she hurried home right this moment, while Elyan conversely complained about how it was too early to make it to his favourite club, where a girl called Kara was apparently playing.

Gilli solved everybody's problems by saying, “If that's the case, why don't we all go to the Cadogan Arms! There'll be food aplenty and Elyan can wait there till it's late enough for clubbing.”

Since he'd put things in such an enticing light, Gilli's idea was welcomed.

Arthur watched this interaction with a smile on his face. He was pleased; friendliness between the orchestra members meant camaraderie. Not all ensembles were so blessed. 

When they all turned round and asked Arthur out, though, Arthur didn't know what to say. For one thing, he should probably maintain some distance between himself and the group. For another, Merlin would be there – Arthur had seen him accepting Gilli's proposal – and Arthur was still keeping him at arm's length because of their initial face off and the following slight tension.

Still, at the end of the day he couldn't quite refuse the joint entreaties of the group and therefore accepted.

They had dinner at the Cadogan Arms; mostly pub food, but warm pub food. Beverages flowed, in the shape of beer and cider. By the time Arthur's plateful of chips had run almost empty everybody was drunk enough to start placing bets on nearly anything.

Merlin lost five quid on how fast Myror could down a pint: (an inhuman four seconds), and a tenner on Freya's whistling skills. And despite Gilli's swaggering proclamation that he could remember the dates of birth and death of any composer of Elyan's choosing, it turned out to be Merlin who had that gift, surprising Arthur with his pinpoint knowledge.

He couldn't just play the violin; he knew his stuff. In time he could become a conductor with that kind of recall.

Arthur's reverie about Merlin was interrupted when Gilli, spurred by the loss, initiated a challenge against Merlin. “Look,” he said, tapping the wooden table. “You won thirty quid. I'm under by fifteen. That's just.... Unjust.”

“Gilli, you're drunk,” Sefa said, hurling a little napkin ball at Gilli. “Let Merlin be. He's new.” She turned to Arthur for support. “Isn't he, Arthur? And shouldn't Gilli let go?”

Arthur held both hands up in the air. “Don't ask me. I'm merely a bystander.”

“But you're the boss!” Myror joked, smirking as though he wanted to drag Arthur right into this.

“Still,” said Arthur, not wanting to get involved. “I'm not going to be a part of this. Let Gilli challenge Merlin.”

 _What can he do_ , thought Arthur. Bet that Merlin couldn't eat a whole plateful of chilli peppers without puking? That would be entertaining to watch at least.

As it turned out what Gilli could do was challenge Merlin to a session of, “Strip pool!”

“You can't,” said Merlin, flushing pleasantly to the tip of his ears. “We're in a public place.”

Sefa leant eagerly in. “You're not factoring in the fact that we --” Her eyes encompassed the orchestra members gathered round the long pub table – “are regulars here and pay very well. As long as you don't show cock, we're fine.”

Arthur choked on the ale he'd thought he'd drink to look uninvolved and detached. Fine plan that had been.

“But, but--” Merlin spluttered. “Aren't there any rules?”

“Anything goes,” Sefa harped on, winking. “You'll see. We're regulars.”

Despite having a boyfriend, Freya, too, seemed eager to have the bet accepted. “What,” she said, when Gilli, Elyan and Myror looked at her as if to remind her of her other half, “I can look if not touch. I'm a mere mortal. Besides, Merlin looks like he's kinda cute under those baggy clothes of his.”

Merlin covered his face with his palms, having gone puce underneath.

Arthur couldn't take his eyes off the stretch of neck that Merlin's hands couldn't cover, that patch of skin that went from the round hem of his knit to his chin. It was worked red and Arthur could imagine nothing but ways of soothing it. Since the others had mentioned strip pool, Arthur's mind had wandered off the rails and now his imaginings involved Arthur soothing that blush with his tongue.

What the fuck.

To chase off the thought he shook his head and took a sip of ale. But tonight wasn't the right night for him to maintain his cool and escape unscathed. Sefa called for him to be the referee. "Come on, Arthur. You know the rules better than we do and you're sure not to have faves.” She joined her hands together as if in prayer. “Please?”

The others seemed to be of the same mind as Sefa, clapping and thumping their feet on the floor to get Arthur to accept his new impromptu position. Arthur looked to Gilli. He seemed eager to have Arthur as referee. Arthur didn't know if he wanted that because he believed Arthur would be impartial or because he thought Arthur would, having known him longer than Merlin, favour him. Knowing that he'd have no luck being rejected by Gilli, Arthur then shifted his gaze onto Merlin himself. He was shrugging and blushing, his hands clasped together, his lips bowing under the force of a smile.

“Okay,” Arthur said, against his better judgement. “I'll be your referee.”

Upstairs there were several pool tables but none of them was in use. This made the working out of their bet even easier.

With the appropriate amount of jeering exhortation from their non-participating companions, Gilli and Merlin appropriated one of the tables and started the game. 

With a break shot Gilli scattered the balls on the table. As referee Arthur assigned the solid colour balls to Merlin. The others naturally went to Gilli. Since this was not a sanctioned variety of eight ball, Arthur defined the rules. “If you fail to pocket a ball you call, if you pocket the wrong ball or if you get the right ball in the wrong pocket you lose an item of clothing of your choice.”

“Let's hope they play badly then,” said Freya, before blushing.

“If you commit a foul,” said Arthur, walking around the pool table, calling the shots like a school teacher, “that's the same. Otherwise you're following standard eight ball rules. The two shot rule is in, though. Agreed?”

Gilli and Merlin nodded, shook hands over it, and took up their cues.

Gilli started playing but as he failed to pocket his second ball he lost his watch. 

Sefa commented from the sidelines, lips down-turned. “This way we'll never see any skin.”

Warily, Merlin took a turn around the pool table. Arthur could see that he was trying to get a fair idea of the lay out of the balls to try for the easiest shot.

Since Merlin seemed so serious about it, everyone got quiet, all eyes on him, Arthur's probably the keenest.  
Analysing the balls' spacing, Merlin leant down and looked at them. When his eyes fell on ball number thirteen, they lit up. As Arthur had, he must have noticed that the orange ball was in the easiest position for him to do something with. Decision seemingly taken, he leant forward and rested the cue on his knuckles.

“Orange fourteen,” Merlin said, aligning the shot. “Corner pocket.”

“Hear, hear,” said Gilli, trying to break Merlin's concentration. Sefa was doing the same by giggling. Arthur was sure their intents were at odds, though their hoped for end result was the same. Gilli wanted to win and humiliate Merlin, not out of maliciousness but simply out competitiveness. Sefa just wanted to see skin.

Arthur dipped his head the moment he realised he wished for that ball to get astray too.

It didn't. Merlin potted the orange ball and then the green one, but failed to do the same by his second green one. Merlin bowed and said, “Okay, okay. I get it. Off with the clothes.” He toed off his trainers and wiggled socked toes with an insouciant grin.

At that, Arthur burst out laughing. Merlin was playing the part of the naïve boy but he wasn't really, was he? True, his blushes and shyness weren't faked but he was perfectly aware of the sexual undertone this game had and was milking it for the fun of it. The imp. 

It was Gilli's turn to act. He sank his ball but when the time came to repeat the exploit he couldn't do it. Gilli lost his cardigan to Merlin. 

Merlin's turn came again. Before acting, he flicked Arthur a glance. He threw back his shoulders, and wiggled his bottom in a way that was far too hot to be allowed in public, his eyes seemingly saying, “I have this.”

Once again Merlin leant against the pool table. He sank his next shot. And after that he potted shot after shot, a grin spreading from ear to ear. At the realisation he was doing so well Merlin's eyes sparkled; his posture changed, becoming more open, and he licked his lips in challenge, earning a snort from Gilli.

A strange kind of happiness emanated from Merlin, an arresting air that kept Arthur's eyes on him, tracking his every move.

When Merlin found himself a bit cornered, he pulled off a bank shot. He even managed to jump the cue ball over a couple of obstacles in order to sink his ball. When he finally missed a shot, everyone but Gilli 'oohed'. Merlin had a very supportive audience now, though it was Arthur's eyes he looked for when the time came for him to shed another article of clothing.

Arthur swallowed, his throat newly tight with something Arthur decided not to call lust, and nodded his head.

Merlin could have gone for the fleece socks he was most certainly wearing. Instead he seemed to decide it was time to satisfy his curious audience. Without much ado he pulled his shirt over his head and did this without losing his cue. 

Merlin's torso was lean but not free of muscle; it tapered into a thin waist Arthur tried to estimate the span of. He caught himself short of wondering how much of it his hands would cover. Abandoning that trail of thought as incendiary, he just took Merlin in – the dusting of dark hair between his nipples, the colour of the latter, the paler tint of his chest compared to the rest of him – until he realised he was staring and took his eyes elsewhere.

Though Merlin didn't seem to mind – and to be reacting to Sefa's catcalls with gusto – Arthur felt that enough was enough. He was drawn to Merlin's body the way he had been to his music, but that didn't mean he had to ogle. Not even to return the look Merlin gave him before handing his shirt to the waiting Sefa. 

The match continued with Gilli missing his first shot but sinking a good few balls once he got going. In the next two rounds he lost socks, shoes and shirt, while Merlin only yielded his belt and socks. 

The game didn't continue long after that, though Arthur was treated to at least ten more minutes of Merlin prancing around the pool table in dishabille. After a brief tour of Gilli's with the cue stick – Gilli being clever enough to surrender his wristband when he had to give up his turn at the game– Merlin sank nearly all his solids. At this point it was an open table for him. Arthur just watched him sink his shots one after the other, Merlin's grin expanding. 

By that time only the eight ball remained. Merlin hummed, his dimples now showing. 

Arthur was so fascinated with them, he almost didn't notice Merlin sinking the eight ball with ease.

Freya and Sefa clapped while Gilli asked, “I don't have to drop trou now, do I?”

Merlin clapped him on the back. “No, don't worry. I never meant to go that far either if I lost.”

“What, you were cheating?” Sefa said playfully. “That's low of you. Isn't it, Mr Referee?” 

Called in to cast his judgement, Arthur shrugged. “It's up to them.”

“Pity,” said, Sefa, giving Merlin his clothes back. In order to make a grab for them Merlin placed the pool stick against the wall and started dressing. 

For as long as he did Arthur averted his eyes. The intimacy of what he was looking at, watching Merlin pull clothes on as he might after sex, was a little daunting to Arthur. It dried his mouth and made his blood course faster and in places where it shouldn't in the presence of his esteemed orchestra. So he only gazed back when Merlin was done and the others were starting to get organised about going back home, with little more than half an hour left before the pub closed.

After bidding each other goodbye, they divided into little groups. Elyan hailed a cab to take him to his favourite nightclub. Gilli caught a bus at a run. Sefa drove Freya home and Myror trekked back to his because it was within walking distance.

“I can walk you home,” Arthur said, pulling Merlin back as they were crossing the street when a black car with tinted windows ran the risk of ploughing right over Merlin. “So I can make sure you don't get run over.”

Merlin craned his head at the car. “That aresehole's slowed down but didn't even think to lower that window and ask if we were fine!” Merlin said, missing Arthur's point.

Arthur grabbed Merlin's wrist and motioned him onto the pavement. “Maybe he was checking you out. Lingered long enough.” The car was just now starting again, slowly disappearing from view.

“Hardly,” Merlin snorted, not wiggling free of Arthur's touch though Arthur had fully expected him to. 

“You're... enough of a show-stopper.”

Merlin stopped walking, causing Arthur to have to do the same. Merlin tilted his head at him, two lines popping up on his forehead. “You're good at teasing.”

“Nah,” Arthur downplayed it. “You don't look too bad.”

“Thank you for the backhanded compliment,” Merlin said, shaking his head and taking to walking again.

“I started with a decent one,” Arthur, said, jogging to catch up with Merlin, “but then you shot it down as unlikely.”

Merlin's nose creased. “It sorta was.”

“So what are you accusing me of?” Arthur asked, breath coming fast, Merlin's strides being so long Arthur had to strain to catch up. Lanky bastard.

“Nothing.” Merlin narrowed his shoulders. “Just... keep it more honest. That's... nicer.”

“Okay,” Arthur said, having an inkling of what Merlin was taking about. “No exaggerating either way.”

“Good,” Merlin said, slowing down. “That's what I like. My dad... Well, he was dishonest enough. He went walkabout for years. And when he came back he promised he'd stay. He never did. Actually he buggered off indefinitely the moment I turned eight.”

“I'm so sorry about that,” Arthur said, wincing, really contrite about having caused Merlin to open up about that. He hadn't meant the conversation to take such a personal and dolorous turn. For some reason – high on the night and bubbly from the beer – he'd just meant to get Merlin to chat with him. 

Hands in his pockets, he just bounced at a quick pace alongside Merlin, head ducked against the wind. Arthur stopped when Merlin halted by the bus shelter. “I'll be perfectly honest, I promise,” he said to encourage talk of another kind.

Merlin smiled, his eyes diminishing in a sea of folds and tiny wrinkles. “Perfectly now? Is anybody _that_ honest?”

“Mmm,” Arthur said, considering the question. “Probably not.”

“Yeah, that's what I thought.”

“You always so philosophical?” Arthur asked, cocking his head in the direction Merlin was craning his.

“No.” Merlin's voice was filled with laughter. “Only at night when I'm full of food and beer and waiting for a bus to trundle past that'll take me home.”

“I take it you're not letting me walk you home then?” Arthur said, not knowing why he was harping back on that.

Merlin leant his head against the bus shelter frame. “All the way to Ilford?”

Arthur made a few calculations. He had a perfectly serviceable car. A good car that came with Morgana's stamp of approval. Pity he'd left it parked close to his place. In an attempt to appear more casual to his orchestra, he'd decided to skip driving and take the tube. If he took a bus all the way to Ilford... Well, he'd get there towards one and then he'd have to find a bus back. He'd get home very late. But he was ready to do it because he didn't want his time with Merlin to draw to an end. “Well, I could.”

Merlin's lips stretched. “You even would, you chivalrous conductor you.” A bus rumbled down the street. Merlin craned his head to check which one it was, then said, “That's for me. I-uh-- Thanks for offering, though.” Merlin ducked and pressed his lips to Arthur's cheek. “Good night, Arthur,” he said, before hopping on the bus, Oyster card held at the ready.

Even though he was only booked for a concert series, Merlin wanted to make friends with the Philharmonic orchestra members. It wasn't so much a matter of how stable his job was – he knew it wasn't – but he wanted to be there for them even if at the end of his contract they'd part ways.

So he bought a ticket for one of their concerts, one that wasn't part of the series he himself was contributing to.

As it happened this concert was the last of Edwin Muirden's soloist season for the RPO. And it was a strange concert at that. 

The orchestral opener went smoothly, but Edwin's solo was... odd. Or rather as though he wasn't playing with the orchestra but over it. 

His cues weren't wrong and there were no false notes, but his rendition of Adès' _Concentric Paths_ was detached from the accompaniment. 

Listening closely, Merlin couldn't poke his finger at why this was. He couldn't even understand how this feeling he had had come about since Muirden was making no mistakes.

Merlin had seen the original first performance in 2006 and while the notes and sections being played weren't different, the spirit of the piece sounded remotely off.

Adès' concerto had three movements that formed a triptych. The middle part was definitely the longest. Its slowness of movement was a direct result of the way the composition was structured. It was made up by a few large and numerous small, independent musical cycles that overlapped and clashed, sometimes passionately, whilst peaking towards their resolution. 

While the orchestra seemed to pursue that resolution, Muirden wasn't, rather lingering on the circular design of the outer movements, playing the unstable harmony of the piece with virtuoso gusto that managed to yet diminish the accompaniment.

Most of the audience didn't even notice, bar a few members who were shaking their heads, murmuring their disappointment during the intermezzo. The person seated next to Merlin even went so far as to say, “That's the problem with star violinists. They want to shine at the expense of the piece.”

Merlin couldn't shake off the feeling that Arthur wouldn't be pleased by this turn of events. Yes, there was a chance he'd be content with Muirden's competent execution, which most of the audience was buying. But Merlin felt that wouldn't be the case and wanted to do something about it.

After the concert Merlin asked Gaius if he could wait for Arthur in his changing rooms. 

“As you wish,” said Gaius, finding a staffer who could open the door for him, “but Arthur could be a long time. He's entertaining the Countess of Wessex.”

Merlin smiled. “I don't mind waiting. I'll just--” He walked over to Arthur's dressing room sofa and sat himself down. “--camp here and wait for Arthur to come back.”

“Don't bother him if he isn't talkative tonight,” Gaius cautioned him.

Merlin made a face. “Who do you take me for, Gaius?”

Gaius frowned. “For my nephew, that's who I take you for.”

“I promise I'll just compliment him about his performance and then be gone,” Merlin said, wanting to sound as mild and tactful as possible. “But he deserves some moral support.”

Even though Merlin was determined to wait, Arthur's failing to appear made the time trickle by very slowly. At first Merlin attempted to sit primly on the sofa, so as not to invade Arthur's space too much. But as the minutes, and then an hour, elapsed he found his mind wandering and boredom biting at his heels.

He took a book out of his rucksack –one of those he had by to read on the Tube – and sprawled more comfortably on the sofa. He'd nearly read a whole chapter when he realised that it was late, his eyelids were heavy and he should move unless he wanted to fall asleep right there. 

Unfortunately that was his last thought before, the words, “Sorry, Muirden, but I meant what I said” permeated through his foggy consciousness and someone shook him awake.

The first thing Merlin saw after he'd copiously blinked was Arthur's face. Of Muirden there was no trace. He must have gone before Merlin could properly wake. As for Arthur, he wasn't frowning at Merlin's presence as expected. He was picking up the book Merlin had dropped and putting it on the nearby coffee table instead. The expression on his face was weary but soft. Even so Merlin shot up to a sitting position. “I'm sorry,” he said, passing a hand over his face in a downwards swipe. “I only meant to wait for you to congratulate you on the concert but I, erm--”

Arthur smiled. “Fell asleep?”

Merlin rubbed at his eyes, fighting the cobwebs of sleep. “Yeah, I never meant to. I just wanted to wait for you and then--”

Arthur squeezed his shoulder. “You don't have to apologise. The intent was nice.”

“So you're not ticked off?”

“No,” said Arthur, his brow twitching. “Why should I be?”

“I don't know,” said Merlin, scanning Arthur's dressing room. “Because I invaded your privacy? Because you're tired?”

“I'm not tired,” Arthur told him, shifting from a kneeling position to sitting on the coffee table. The move was punctuated by a grunt. 

Merlin winged an eyebrow. 

“I'm tired of having to put on a face,” Arthur said, cradling his hands between his legs. “Today wasn't good.”

“Oh, Arthur, but it wasn't bad either!” Merlin said, thinking back to the concert. “Not a note went amiss. It was just...”

“Not Adès,” Arthur said, mouth pursed grimly. “Not how it was meant to be played.”

Merlin wanted to comfort Arthur and say everything had been perfect but he couldn't lie about his misgivings. “Perhaps not, but neither you nor your soloist did anything wrong.”

Arthur snuffled. “There's a difference between that and art though,” he said, eyes skittering across the room. “We didn't pull off art tonight.”

Merlin put his hand on Arthur's knee. “I think you did your best and that's what counts.”

Arthur emitted a low grunt. “After the way I went after you following your first entrance on stage I thought you'd be less understanding. I thought you'd take this opportunity to rub my face in any failure of mine.”

“Did you really think I'd be like that?” Merlin asked, wondering what kind of first impression he'd made. “Because I'm really not.”

Arthur licked his lips; they looked as chafed and dry as stage lights could make them. “No, I know now. I think I do.”

Merlin realised he still had his hand on Arthur's knee so he withdrew it. Arthur's eyes latched onto the gesture so Merlin hurried to say. “I hope we can be friends.”

Humming, Arthur tipped his head to the side. “I don't know; do I get some time to think about it?”

Merlin kicked Arthur in the shin as delicately as possible, so as not to hurt. “No, you can't think about it.”

“Well then,” said Arthur, “then I'm afraid it's a no.”

Merlin hit him with the only throw pillow Arthur had on his sofa. “Take that back.”

“Or?” Arthur said, ducking hits and giggling as he did. 

“Or I'll have to have you play Adès again from scratch,” said Merlin, making the same sounds Arthur was. “So you can do justice to my fave.”

Arthur's giggles stopped. “He's your fave, really?”

“Fave modern,” Merlin said, nodding. He loved Adès' sense of the absurd, his encoding of music as the major force of his work (that and his dissing of Wagner). “For sentimental reasons.”

“Sentimental reasons?” Arthur asked, clearly not understanding how Merlin could be sentimental about this so very post-modernist musician who'd probably scoff at Merlin's own attachment. 

“Yeah,” he said, his voice growing smaller. “My mum, she was the one who took me to see my very first concert. And it was...”

“Oh no,” Arthur said, palms covering his hands. “It was _Concentric Paths_. I ruined the one seminal moment of your life.”

“No,” Merlin said, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Just the moment that made me decide I wanted to try for the RCM when I was old enough.”

They both laughed deadpan at that, until they stopped, at the same time. In the silence that followed they held each other's gazes. Arthur's eyes looked rounder and less slanted now, full of light that made them appear brighter. Merlin's were fixed on Arthur's face. His mouth, his nose. His mouth again. Feeling that that wasn't right, Merlin's eyes flicked up. Arthur didn't tear his eyes away so they continued on with this silent form of communication, something unspoken pulsing in the air between them till it became as taut as a bow string.

Not knowing what to say or how to disengage, Merlin took a deep breath and adjusted his position on the sofa. “Well then,” he said, knowing fully well his words weren't going anywhere.

“So,” Arthur said, acting the same as Merlin.

“I suppose I should go,” Merlin said, finally finding something reasonable to say. “I mean, you should probably change and I should probably take myself to bed... considering.” He gave Arthur's sofa a comical look that was supposed to make Arthur laugh again but didn't. “You know.”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, if you're tired,” said Arthur, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. “I'll walk you to...” Arthur must have realised there weren't many places he could walk Merlin to. “The door.”

Merlin nodded brusquely, a tingle playing on his skin. He stood a bit abruptly and let himself be escorted to the door. All ten paces to it. “Thank you and...”

Arthur reached for his arm. “Good night, Merlin.”

Merlin tensed, a little torn between pulling his arm back or doing what he'd done the other day: kissing Arthur on the cheek. That night it had come about naturally. Tonight he felt self-conscious about touching his lips to the face he'd been studying so closely.

His heart pounding like he'd just run circles around Cadogan Hall, Merlin did the first thing that came to him. He shook Arthur's hand. It was stupid. It wasn't like this was their first meeting or as if this was some kind of congratulations moment, but it was a fine mediation between running away for fear of facing this thing that made him feel hollow at the knees and smacking a kiss on Arthur's cheeks.

Arthur held his hand tight but used his left to cup Merlin's neck and squeeze. “Good night, Merlin.”

When the door to Arthur's dressing room closed behind him, Merlin released a breath.

Arthur had just dumped a pile of scores on his office desk and cleared it of the flowers some fan or other had gifted him when a sharp rap sounded on his open door.

Arthur's eyes snapped in the direction of the sound. A coat-clad Edwin Muirden was standing there, his collar turned up as though he was still braving the weather outside.

“Mr Muirden, what can I do for you?”

Muirden nodded in recognition and stepped inside, taking a chair. “Maestro.”

Arthur's eyebrow rose. He decided not to let himself be put out by Muirden's overly solicitous behaviour and stuck to his plans. He started riffling into his drawers.

“You may be wondering why I'm here.”

Arthur was still searching into his drawer. “Yes, I was wondering why you decided to pay me a visit given that your contract is fulfilled--” Arthur took his diary out of the drawer and slammed it shut “-- and that your last performance disrespected the orchestra accompanying you.”

“I was suffering from the after effects of my previous illness,” said Muirden, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbing at his nose. “These days I still have no breath left.”

Arthur sank into his chair with all the momentum of his body, letting it roll backwards and against the wall. “I didn't know you played a wind instrument, Mr Muirden.”

Muirden narrowed his eyes at him. “That's neither here nor there, Pendragon.” With a smug, defying little smile he set off the kinetic toy Arthur had on display on his desk. By giving the plane a less than gentle tilt, he had it in motion so that it started flying in circles, making Arthur wish he could slap his hand. “I was so weak I couldn’t have performed very well.”

Arthur didn't say that Muirden looked mighty fine now although he suspected it had been a simple bout of flu that had kept Muirden from doing his job properly. Yet without proof positive of Muirden slacking off because of a mere seasonal cold, Arthur couldn't say that the man had been unprofessional. “I understand and I'm sorry you were first compelled to withdraw your participation from the event and then later too ill to give us your best.” Arthur steepled his fingers on his belly. “I still don't see what I can do for you today.”

Muirden wetted his lips before speaking. “Last week I attended a party given by a friend of Mr von Stroheim.”

“Ah, Taliesin,” Arthur interjected, his mouth pursing.

“Yes, indeed,” Muirden said, arching an eyebrow. “The man himself, the great patron of the arts, and young violinists most of all.”

Arthur tapped an angry rhythm on his stomach with his fingers, the first notes to the _Danse Macabre._ “And?”

“And you're giving a series of extra concerts dedicated to drawing in the young.”

“There's a new series of concerts in the works, yes.”

Muirden leant forward, grabbing the edges of Arthur's desk. “I want to solo.”

Arthur barked out laughing. He couldn't refrain. The man had turned down the RPO, not his local church choir. “I'm sorry, but we have our solo violinist.”

“You didn't audition for the position.”

“No,” Arthur said, bobbing his head in agreement. “It was done by invitation.”

Muirden blinked. “And who's this violinist of yours?”

“A new guest violinist.”

“Yes, but who is he?”

Arthur couldn't keep the information to himself. If Muirden wanted to he could find out easily enough. “The man who filled in for you when you were ill.”

Muirden's blinking became more violent. “Am I to understand that I would have been invited to guest if I hadn't been ill?”

“Well, no,” Arthur said, getting a bit fed up with the man's presumption. “You wouldn't have. See, Taliesin loved Merlin in particular because of the effect he had on the crowd.”

“I bet he did,” said Muirden, his eyes getting darker. “How young is Merlin? I hear Mr von Stroheim favours fresh blood.” A thin smile appeared on Muirden's lips. “Especially since he can get something in return from all these young hopefuls. A blow job, even a fuck.”

Arthur jumped upright, both hands on his desk, shoulders bunching. “Out.” His fingers curled inwards and he had to dig his nails into the skin of his palms so as not to punch Muirden in the face. “I said, out.”

Muirden flinched and stood. “That solo should by all rights be mine.”

“Out.”

Muirden backed towards the door. “You know it's true. If it wasn't for von Stroheim's bloody lust that spot would be mine. I should be your soloist.”

“Not as long as I'm conductor here,” said Arthur, advancing towards the man, who made himself smaller and scuttled backwards.

When he realised that Arthur wouldn't be actually attacking him, Muirden stopped retreating and took a moment to spit out, “You won't direct forever, Pendragon. I'll find the source of this scandal – von Stroheim, this young hustler of yours and--”

Arthur went for Muirden's collar. “If you call him that again--”

Muirden's eyes went wide, spirited, as if he'd just been struck by a malevolent epiphany. “I see now. I see it all.”

Arthur crushed the collar of Muirden's pristine shirt in his fingers, wishing he could give the man's windpipe the same treatment. “What are you talking about, you sick, jealous bastard?”

“That's how 'Merlin' got the job that should have been mine!” Muirden exclaimed out loud, catching the attention of the people sweeping past Arthur's office. “The boy is fucking von Stroheim and you too, most probably. That's what happening. But wait till the press gets a hold of this story. They'll learn what happens in the hallowed halls of the Royal Philharmonic. They'll know, wait for it, and then you'll all be ruined.”

People were now staring. A few orchestra members who were still loitering around after rehearsals as well as the Artistic Director's PA, Agnes, stopped in their tracks to hear the ruckus Muirden was making.

At the words their eyes widened like saucers, and Arthur heard gasps and murmurs.

An eye on his involuntary audience, Arthur let go of Muirden. “That's so beneath me I'm not even going to address it,” he said, cleaning his hands on his trousers.

Muirden straightened his clothes. “That's because you don't know what to say in your defence!” Muirden exclaimed as loudly as he could. It seemed he was enjoying having an audience. Or perhaps this was part of his strategy. He probably thought he'd get the job if his insinuations made the RPO's board of directors nervous enough“You're lying to save your skin!” Muirden said with gusto, adding insult upon insult.

Cold sweat broke on Arthur's brow but he didn't let himself be cowed. “You're making a fool of yourself, Mr Muirden. Now go home and think about your manners. They could stand improving.”

He backed away and slammed his door on Muirden as well as all the bystanders still curious enough to hang around for more.

Drained by the senseless showdown, Arthur let himself fall into his chair, which he rolled closer to the desk. Raking both hands through his hair, he sank his elbow on the hard wooden surface and sighed. “Fuck,” he said. “What the fuck. Fuck.”

Instead of going directly home after rehearsals, Merlin stopped by the Oakley Room bar, which was part and parcel of Cadogan Hall.

Seeing Arthur alone at a table, Merlin bought him a glass of white wine and moved to sit with him.

“Here,” he said, pushing the glass towards Arthur. “It looks as though you need it.”

Arthur startled, then his eyes softened only to abruptly sharpen again. “I have my tea.”

“It looks as though it's hours old,” Merlin said, observing the dregs of tea in the cup Arthur had pushed aside and touching the sides of the ceramic pot that had gone with it. It was cold. “And this is far more fortifying.”

Arthur inhaled sharply. “What makes you think I need fortifying?”

Merlin pushed a finger at Arthur's brow. “The lines here.”

“There's no--”

Merlin's mouth twitched.

“All right, thank you,” Arthur said. He proved that he'd moved on from his stubborn fit by drinking half the glass Merlin had bought him. “Happy?”

Merlin could sense that Arthur wasn't but he was at least glad he'd got Arthur to unwind (and blink) just a little bit. “Yeah, thank you.”

“I suppose now you'll want to sit and chat,” said Arthur, shifting his glass on the table as though he wasn't pleased with the position it was occupying.

“No,” said Merlin, sensing that something was wrong but not knowing what. Since he didn't want to blunder and ruin the truce they had going he decided to keep it vague and mask his concern as much as he could. “I was going home. I just...” Merlin had this idea: he believed that Arthur wasn't the type of person who wanted to be cheered up. He guessed Arthur was one of those guys who wanted to count mainly on themselves and didn't desire too much help from others, especially when they felt they would be called weak for it. Mindful of this, Merlin said, “Sometimes a glass of wine is just a glass of wine.”

Arthur eyes glinted and narrowed. “I'm not sure that's true.”

Merlin raked up his rucksack and his violin case and stood. “I'll leave you to ponder that.”

“Don't forget Morgana's party,” Arthur said, when Merlin was already halfway to the exit. “I won't be the only one left to suffer.”

Before pushing open the big set of revolving doors, Merlin said, “Keep musing over your wine, Arthur.”

Shutting out the goings on at the other end of the room, Arthur greeted Morgana's guests with as much polite charm as he could manage.

Ignoring Taliesin's fawning over Merlin and the old man using every occasion that presented itself to touch him – offering Merlin a glass of something, clapping his back to praise him – Arthur tried to play the guest of honour as nicely as he could. 

He stopped several times to chat with this or that person, friends of Morgana's, friends of friends of Morgana's, patrons of the arts he'd met in various places over the years. He did all this without betraying how bored he was.

Acting the part of charming guest wasn't easy given how crowded the room was. Doing it entailed keeping a mask on at all times, especially with that had been on his mind lately. Thankfully, waiters made the rounds with champagne and canapés on their trays, so Arthur had at least that to console himself with when his sense of the absurd nearly got the better of him. 

Before he could legitimately claim a headache and go home, Arthur still had to stay and be sociable for a while longer. As Morgana had said, he needed to circulate, something Merlin was having a hard time with, given von Stroheim's taking him hostage as soon as he'd stepped into Morgana's house. Arthur had predicted as much, and probably should have warned Merlin, but there was no way to change that now.

Arthur moved about, while trying to keep himself to himself, slowly sipping his champagne as a buffer, so as to keep the host of genteel RPO patrons away. As he coasted the room, he took to scrutinising the paintings arrayed in the salon Morgana had chosen to host her party in. 

At long last one of the paintings caught his eye so he didn't have to feign interest anymore. It was a portrait of a lady done in the style of Gainsborough. The colours were light, the reproduction fine. 

Arthur obsessed over the gossamer thread of the fichu that covered the bosom of the young woman portrayed. The little ripples and folds in it were done so well as to give an impression of reality. It was a beautiful piece in as much as Arthur understood art that had nothing to do with musical notes, and Arthur wondered when and where Morgana had got it. He was certain that it must be new.

He was moving a little so he could watch the painting change as the light hit it from different angles, when someone cleared their throat next to him.

Arthur was ready to start the umpteenth meaningless conversation, when he heard Merlin say, “Okay, you were right. Save me.”

Arthur scoffed and buried a smile in his glass. He took a sip and said, “Don't tell me you're bored now.”

“No, it's not that,” Merlin said, tugging on his sleeve to get his attention. “I mean this party is mind-numbingly dull but I could make do with mind-numbingly dull if only Mr von Stroheim wasn't pawing me all the time. It's...” Merlin made fish eyes, round and bulging, and he craned his chin. “It's distressing.”

“Aww, poor baby, finally facing reality,” Arthur said, taking in Merlin's profile. Pink dusted his cheeks and he looked a bit spooked, mouth falling open at intervals. His eyes, though, were sparking bright blue with how put out he was. Merlin was quite a spectacle. Since he'd had to clean up to come to Morgana's party Merlin was looking better than usual. Better than ever, really. The formal clothes looked good on him, the cut of his shirt following the lines of his wide shoulders, his trousers accompanying the slimness of his hips in a way that even a formal tailcoat didn't achieve. Just Taliesin's type, unfortunately. Arthur himself found the sight quite pleasing. “I warned you,” he said, keeping that last consideration at bay. “I told you it was better if you didn't accept this invitation back when Morgana extended it to you.”

“Well, if you'd said why that was,” Merlin hissed so as not to be heard by a passing couple. “I'd have had reason to listen.”

“I can't be expected to spell out everything, now, can I? Especially when I'm handling such a delicate subject as one of our patrons,” Arthur said, gesticulating with his glass. “I'm your conductor. You're supposed to trust me.”

“If I say I trust you now,” said Merlin sidling closer to him, “will you help me do a runner? If I stay I'll have to tell von Stroheim to stuff it. And Morgana says I can't because he's the reason we're giving those concerts in the first place.”

Arthur tapped his lower lip with his index finger, watching appreciatively as Merlin's jaw fell a bit lower. Ah, ah, he had Merlin. For once he had the upper hand. It was so extremely satisfying. “If I helped you...”

“I'll do anything--”

“You'll have to give one last solo for free for a charitable institution of my choice,” said Arthur. “You'll have to concede that that I'm always right and wiser than you, oh ye babe in the woods.”

“Yes on the solo. Yes, you're a tad street wiser than me,” Merlin admitted with a sigh, grimacing all the way. “I'll never say you're always right.”

Arthur craned his neck, pretending to have sighted someone. “Old Taliesin is coming over here.”

“Bastard,” said Merlin, making Arthur grin. “Okay, you're wise most of the time, now will you get me out of here without your sister seeing me?”

Arthur grabbed Merlin by the hand at the same time Merlin realised von Stroheim wasn't really there and coming for him. “Come, I happen to know this place like the back of my hand.”

“You'd better not be lying,” Merlin grumbled.

Arthur wasn't lying at all. He was Morgana's brother, and despite some lows in their relationship, he'd visited his sister often. So he unerringly led Merlin out of the salon. He made use of a back door that in the old days used to be employed by the servants, then guided Merlin into another room, along a corridor and out a series of French doors. Without having to wander much, they found themselves in the back of the property. They would have to coast the main building to get to the drive where Arthur was parked but they were out.

“How did you come?” Arthur said, thinking of means of transport.

“I was picked up by Morgana's driver,” said Merlin, his shoulders drooping. 

Arthur smiled. “Don't worry; your flight attempt isn't going to be thwarted so easily.”

“I really hope so,” Merlin said, the slump in his shoulders and the tone of defeat in his voice not lifting yet.

“Because I had enough foresight to turn down Morgana's offer of a driver and I came in my own car,” Arthur said with a winning grin, a little bit as though he was a magician gunning for the big reveal.

“You're a life saver,” Merlin said, then he took to scrutinising Arthur's face closely. “Unless you're planning not to offer me a lift in which case you're a big twat with--”

Arthur hooked a hand around Merlin's neck and pulled him forward. “I'm not playing with your hopes and dreams, Merlin,” he said, exhaling hard, his head tipped low so that his nose almost brushed against Merlin's, his eyes taking stock of him. 

Merlin came easily unglued after that and followed Arthur to his car. At this point Arthur rounded the car to get to his seat behind the wheel while Merlin climbed into the passenger one.

As Merlin fastened his seatbelt, his stomach rumbled so noisily Arthur heard it.

Arthur turned on the ignition, looked into the rear-view mirror and asked, “Don't tell me you didn't get to attack Morgana's famed canapés?”

“No,” Merlin said, hugging his middle. “I was too busy being introduced to this and that person and then later fending off von Stroheim.”

“If Morgana invites you again learn the most essential lesson in the world of dealing with a Pendragon,” Arthur said, easing down the drive. “Duck for the hors d’oeuvre first. At least you'll get something out of the encounter.”

“Noted.” Merlin grimaced. “Though after tonight I scarcely think she'll ask me round again.”

Something possessed Arthur to say, “You're cute.” Arthur coughed. “At least Morgana thinks you so. You're going to be asked round again.”

Merlin ducked his head quickly but not fast enough to hide the blush dusting his cheeks. “Ha, ha.”

Arthur didn't say that he was serious, that that hadn't been meant as a joke. He hadn't drunk enough champagne to admit to his slight weakness for Merlin and he was too much of a pro to do that and turn Muirden's suspicions to reality. So he changed the subject. “Look, if you're hungry we could stop somewhere. Have something to eat.”

“Not if you're full.”

“I only had a few canapés,” Arthur said, slowing at the property gate where the drive merged with the road. “I could do with a few bites of something more solid.”

Merlin's stomach made more noise at the mention of food. “Okay, I could do with some food too.”

“Italian okay?” Arthur asked.

“A quick pizza would set me up just fine.”

“Pizza it is.”

Since Morgana's mansion was in the middle of nowhere, Arthur drove back to London. Not wanting to rack his brains for a place to go, he aimed for somewhere close to his. Living between Notting Hill and Shepherd's Bush, he had the area's eateries by heart. With the job he had, cooking when he got back home after a night's exhibition wasn't one of his priorities, so dining out often happened. He knew where to go.

He parked his car in Westbound Park Road, a stone's throw away from The Oak, a place he often frequented. 

“Notting Hill, really?” Merlin asked, not guessing the nature of Arthur's habits. “I said a quick bite anywhere would do. I don't need anything high end.”

“I know this place,” Arthur said, closing the car with a push of a button. “They have a pretty extensive menu.”

“I think you've got the wrong 'e' adjective,” Merlin said, pulling up the collar of his jacket against the biting wind. “The one you were looking for is 'expensive.”

As they crossed the road, Arthur placed a hand in the small of Merlin's back and herded him forward. There was nothing else Arthur could do given that Merlin's harping on the quality of the venue got him close to getting run over. “Don't worry. It's on me.”

“But--” Merlin tried to argue. “I can foot my half of the bill.”

Arthur just pushed him into the pizzeria. “But since I chose the place it wouldn't be fair.”

“I still don't see how it's right,” Merlin contended, but stopped when a waiter in a green apron came up to them. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

“A table for two,” said Arthur over a spluttering Merlin.

The restaurant was still crowded despite the relatively late hour. The small table the waiter found them was intimate and out of view of most of the clientèle. 

They ordered drinks. When the second waiter came up to their table to ask for their food orders. Merlin was still frowning at the menu, humming under his breath.

At first Arthur failed to understand why he couldn't just settle on a choice. But then he grasped the reason behind Merlin's hesitancy. Since he knew Arthur was paying he was looking for a cheap option. Arthur couldn't tell him to splurge in so many words but he did say, “The salsiccia pizza looks pretty filling to me.”

Merlin's mouth opened with a little greedy gasp. He was probably already mentally tasting the pizza. Score for Arthur. “I'll have that,” Merlin agreed.

The waiter noted Merlin's order down.

“I'll have the courgette and mint soup, please,” Arthur said, without even glancing at the menu more than in passing. He knew it already and merely checked for any new additions.

When the waiter was gone, Merlin said, “You weren't really hungry, were you? All that talk of still fancying a bite, it was just so I could get something to eat.”

To give his hands something to do, Arthur realigned the salt and pepper shakers. “Morgana's hors d’oeuvre are pretty tasty and unlike you, I did get to them.”

“You're a twat,” Merlin said with a smile that would have made Arthur think the word was actually the best compliment on earth. “But a thoughtful one.”

“You were clearly starving,” Arthur said with a shoulder shrug. “And you wouldn't have said yes if I'd told you I was full.”

“Thoughtful, but twattish,” Merlin repeated, “because now I owe you and I feel this small.” He gave evidence of just how small by way of a hand gesture.

“Then you'll have to return the favour and take me out,” Arthur said, just as their orders arrived. 

Since Merlin was starving the conversation got shut down for a while, Merlin busy wolfing down slice after slice of pizza. When only one was left and Merlin had slowed down, Arthur felt safe to broach a new topic. “I’m really sorry for not telling you about Taliesin,” Arthur said as Merlin twined a long dangle of mozzarella around his fork. “Morgana hinted and I know how notorious he is in certain circles.”

“No need to apologize,” Merlin said, mouthful speared on the end of his fork. “I get why you didn't want me there, just--”

“What?” Arthur prompted.

“Just share with the class, all right? I'm not an idiot.”

Arthur chuckled softly, watching as Merlin studiously chewed his mouthful of pizza, reddening as he did. “No, you're not an idiot, but I can't say we started on an even footing or that I have an in with you.”

“I'm sorry,” Merlin said, shifting in his seat and putting the fork down. “For making you think that. I mean you were so stubborn not accepting my apology right after we met, but when you picked on me...” Merlin trailed off, looked down at the rest of his food, and with eyes still firmly down he continued. “I don't have the same background as you, that's pretty self-evident. I don't come from a wealthy family. My mum liked music but she had no musical education, and I'm pretty poor myself. But that doesn't mean I want to change and it seemed to me that you wanted me to. When you pointed out the no tails thing. I just-- I can play in jeans and a T-shirt, or just naked, as well as I can in formal wear.”

Arthur's face burned hot as coals. “I know you can play,” Arthur said after he’d taken a sip of his beer to cool the hot flush. “And that your state of dress or undress is irrelevant, but the world of classical music does come with some preconceived standards and it's not up to us to challenge them.”

Given that he was chewing on his lips more than he had been on his food, Merlin seemed to be considering Arthur's statement. “Why is it not up to us?”

“Because-- because.” Arthur had no idea how to argue that point. Some things were just done a certain way. Some weren't done at all. It had always been like that. It wasn't up to them to change things. Arthur had always seen his job – and Merlin's, by extension – as conveying the art of the great musicians who'd composed the eloquent pieces they played. He was the means and meant to fade into the background: he wasn't there to raise topics meant for other venues. Hopefully, if a concert was really good and everything clicked – the programme, his own work, the orchestra's – then he'd be giving his audience the experience of a lifetime. So he couldn't understand where Merlin was coming from, his need to challenge usage.

Perhaps he couldn't because he and Merlin were opposites. Arthur hadn't failed to see this before. It 'd have been hard to miss how unconventional Merlin was. But he'd simply not allowed himself to think about it. At the present moment though he didn't find this difference grating though it was scary. Probably because Merlin had so much going for him already that Arthur felt he should distance himself from him in case he found too much to like. 

But the truth was that there was probably a lot he'd overlooked in his attempt to pigeonhole Merlin. A case in point was how good he was at posing questions. “Because we come second,” he said. “After the art. The show is about disappearing within the performance to make it possible.”

“But we're always trying to make an impression,” said Merlin. “There's a lot of personality going on.”

“Then I think we should mediate the two, shouldn't we,” Arthur said, thinking of those aims of his that he hadn’t shared with the world. “Personality and homage.”

Merlin nodded thoughtfully and in that moment he appealed to Arthur immensely. There was a grace about him Arthur had thought was only present when he plied his magic on the violin. But he was finding that it was always present. Perhaps it was more evident when he was at rest and not being his clumsy self, but ignoring it was to be wilfully blind.

“I get what you're saying,” Merlin said, his voice lower but gentler. “And I'll try to fit in better.”

Arthur was unfortunately a little distracted by some judicious admiring of Merlin to immediately analyse what Merlin had said. His gaze travelled from Merlin's lips, which looked soft and plump, to his neck, long, strong, to his shoulder, to his wrists. His hands were quite lovely too. Exactly the kind of hands a musician would have, with a grace to them that was strength and fragility combined. Arthur wondered if they'd make love to a person the same way they did to an instrument.

Arthur ripped his gaze away. To his great embarrassment, Arthur realised he’d been staring. Again. To cover his slip, he raised his glass to his lips. When he put it down he said a bit raucously, “Don't change too much though. I'd love it if you stayed just the way you are.”

“But wearing a tailcoat during concerts?” Merlin asked, eyes twinkling benignly even if he couldn't hold back his dig.

Arthur's lips twitched. “Yes, we could try parading you naked for the shock value, but though some ladies might rejoice, others might have a fit.”

Merlin brushed the open skin at his neck with the pads of his fingers, a touch that must have been feather light. “How about the men, though?”

Arthur swallowed drily. He was quite sure that swallow had been loud too. And shit if that question didn't seem like Merlin was probing. “Some of the men would love it too, I'm sure,” he said, stopping himself from saying anything totally unprofessional and more telling regarding his own leanings.

He didn't screw orchestra members, he didn't play favourites, and he most certainly never fantasised about them. So he might have been ogling Merlin a fair bit tonight and in the past, and he might have pictured him less than clothed, but he'd just have to stop that and be more sensible from now on. That was all it took.

“--men, but I really don't think I'd manage to survive the appraisal.”

Arthur had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn't been able to make out the whole of Merlin's sentence although he'd heard the tail end of it and could now answer. “Then thank god for tailcoats.”

Merlin toasted, “To tailcoats,” and clinked his glass against his.

When they'd both put their drinks down, Merlin smiled a slightly more alcohol-addled smile and leant back in his chair. “I wonder, though...”

Arthur propped his elbows on the table. “What? You can ask, you know. Questions about me.” Arthur had to check himself not to roll his eyes at how inviting that had been, so he casually added, “Knowledge of one another should foster a better work relationship.”

Merlin laughed softly. “Not so sure about that, but I'm going to ask all the same because I'm curious.”

“Shoot.”

“Is it difficult for you?” Merlin asked, a thoughtful crease on his brow. “I mean I know you come from that world. If I didn't know before, meeting Morgana would have ensured that I do now. But do you ever find it difficult to adapt to the formality of it?”

“That's a good question.” Arthur hummed softly under his breath as he pondered it. 

“I'm smarter than you think.”

Arthur smiled gently, and lifted a shoulder. “To answer your question: no, it's not easier. I love music. I was born with it around me. My mother played. The violin, by the way; just like you. So I always knew what I wanted to do once I grew up. But I do find some aspects of our world daunting too. There's a lot of affectation going on. But I don't think that's unlike any other job.” Arthur paused, then dead-panned, “Of course, Morgana's parties are dead boring.”

“They are.” Merlin snorted, his snorts giving way to chuckles. When he sobered, he asked, “Your mum was...”

Usually chagrin washed over Arthur when someone asked him about the one parent he no longer had, but with Merlin it was different. It might be because of the tentative nature of his tone or the kind light in his eyes. There was no voyeuristic curiosity to Merlin's actions. “Ygraine du Bois.”

Merlin nodded. “I have a few mp4s of her recordings. My favourite of hers is the Sibelius' _Concerto in_ \--”

“ _D minor_ ,” Arthur finished for Merlin. “I know the one you're talking about. She was pregnant with me when--” The words didn't come easy but Arthur made himself say them. “When she played that one. The recording isn't the most perfect, but I think that was one of her best performances.”

“It was so touching,” Merlin said, “as if she was trying to reach out to the world.” Merlin fiddled with his jacket. It took Arthur a few seconds to realise he was rooting in his pockets for his phone. “Here, I have it on my memory card. Obviously listening to it with crappy earphones isn't the best thing in the world, but sometimes I play the piece when I'm on the bus and it's raining.”

Merlin showed Arthur the display of his mobile and sure enough the words Sibelius - _Violin Concerto in D minor, opus. 47_ appeared on the screen. 

“My father still can't listen to it. But I made myself. It's...” Finding the words wasn't easy for Arthur. He hadn't much poked at the thought of his mother's absence except in so far as it regarded his ability to cope with it like a rational man. But now that the time had come for him to express himself he found he needed to think about it for a moment. “If I hadn't, it would have felt like denying her legacy. Erasing her life.”

Merlin's fingers touched his on top of the table. “I didn't want to make you sad, you know. You just mentioned coming from an artistic family and I guess...”

“No, that's all right,” Arthur said. “If there's anyone who can understand her, it's someone like you.”

“I'm not quite as good as her,” Merlin said as their waiter turned up with a tray bearing little bowls containing a variety of tiny dessert slices that he set out on the table. “But thank you for even thinking it.”

Arthur's gaze fell on Merlin, a smile that was softer than any he should have allowed on his lips. “Nah, don't thank me. Just give us passion when you're on the stage and we're dandy.”

The move back to talking shop made the moment a little awkward. Arthur, for one, was no longer able to gauge what sort of situation this was. At first it had mainly been about saving Merlin from Taliesin's clutches and Morgana's pushy socialite matchmaking. Then they'd started talking and the conversation had taken a sudden turn for the personal. He'd broached sensitive subjects because he'd wanted to. For the past hour, he’d been caught up in the intimacy of their conversation but now he was once again self-aware. There were still boundaries, necessary all the more so because he'd had a moment fantasising about Merlin and couldn't afford to. Not with how Muirden had twisted his relationship with Merlin. This sharp veering back towards the professional was what was needed. Or in the space of one evening he'd be breaking all of his own rules. 

As if sensing Arthur's attempt to step back toward professionalism, Merlin seemed to school his expression. His eyes sparked less, his expression hardened just a little, or as much as it was possible for Merlin's expression to harden, and he shifted and shifted in his seat.

Perhaps understanding Arthur's discomfort with the blurred lines in their relationship, Merlin began to talk about everything and nothing. The restaurant, the food, all the little sweet temptations the kitchen had offered up, became his topics of choice. Soon he'd left behind all mention of their lives away from the stage in order to suggest Arthur taste just a little bit of that almond cake or just a little spoonful of that panna cotta. Together, they worked through their dessert options, having a taste of each other's choices and drawing comparisons between flavours and textures.

The appeal to his sweet tooth worked because with each little bite Arthur relaxed a little, until he was starting to think _I haven't walked all over the line_.” After a fine dessert wine from Sicily, Arthur relaxed even more, telling himself he could conciliate some familiarity and being a pro pretty well. He'd always succeeded with the rest of his orchestra.

He even worked up the nerve to say, “Would you be okay with talking a walk afterwards?”

“I don't think you've had so much food that you'd need to take a walk to burn those calories,” Merlin quipped, causing Arthur's face to fall just a little.

Trust Merlin to make things awkward again just when Arthur had found a way to balance their relationship. “I see, right. I'll drop you home, no worries.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, grabbing the hand Arthur had lifted to hail the waiter. “I was joking. I mean I'm so full I do need to take a walk. At least I need to if I want to sleep tonight without dreaming the moon is made of cheese.”

Arthur cracked up. “Made of cheese?”

Merlin dimpled. “It's just... my indigestion dreams.”

“You're an odd one.”

“Probably, yeah.”

A few minutes later, they got their bill, which Arthur, as promised, and despite Merlin's attempt to snatch a glimpse of it, footed. “This was my idea, basically. I took you out,” Arthur said, knowing where Merlin's mind was going. One big hint was his rooting in his pockets for his wallet.

“Are you sure?” Merlin said, stopping in his movements.

“Very.”

“Okay, all right, but next time is on me.”

Arthur left a fiver as tip before gathering his mobile and scarf, and said, “So where to?”

“I just want to wander around for a bit,” Merlin told him, sliding into his jacket. “That sound all right?”

“Of course.” 

The wind was up, even more forceful than before, but it had swept away the clouds and given them as clear a sky as you could get in the city, a few stars twinkling up ahead.

Merlin noticed him looking up and said, “A big fuck you to environmental pollution is what it seems like to me.”

“Mother Nature taking her own back,” Arthur agreed.

Arthur tugged on Merlin's sleeve when he nearly stepped over a big dog turd. “You're my Merlin,” Merlin said.

Arthur wasn't quite sure he got what Merlin was getting at. “What? I'm sorry. I'm your what?”

“My pal Elena,” Merlin said, ambling down the road at the same pace as him, “is the clumsy one usually. More than me anyway. I've saved her from many a disaster though I'm not particularly smooth myself. I guess you're my Merlin. And I'm Ellie.”

“Are you sure you didn't have too much to drink?” Arthur asked.

Merlin made a little 'mmm' noise. “No, just being me.”

“I like that,” Arthur said.

“I like it that you like that,” Merlin said, clearly inhaling the night air, his chest swelled so much with it. “Come,” he then said, announcing a brisk turn in the conversation.

Merlin led Arthur down Shrewsbury Road, past the primary school, and towards a little park Arthur didn't know the name of because he'd never bothered to check. All he knew was that it was clearly closed, hours past sundown. 

When Merlin started to climb the fence separating it from the street, Arthur paled a little. “Jesus Christ,” he said, the air freezing in his lungs. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting in.”

“It's illegal.”

“It's just against the rules,” Merlin said, making sure his foot was landing on the other side of the fence.

“You'll tear your trousers and then they'll arrest you for gross indecency.”

“Hardly,” Merlin said, already on the other side, wiping his hands against each other. “Coming?”

Arthur looked left and right and to the neighbouring white stuccoed houses lest someone was at the window and watching. He didn't want the police to be called on them. He had a reputation to defend. He could even see the headlines: 'RPO conductor arrested for trespassing', but then Merlin smiled wide at him and said, “Come on, Arthur, don't be a stick in the mud.”

And just like that Arthur was climbing over the fence, acting like the truant he'd never been, not even when he was a child.

Merlin must have read his mind or something, for he said, “Never been adventurous much, have you?”

Arthur would have liked to say that he loved to dare, but the truth was that he didn't. He let out steam only when the rules allowed, and when one was required to play by Uther's rules, it never was.

“No, perhaps not.”

Merlin grinned brightly. “Never say never.”

Despite Merlin's dare they didn't do anything particularly wild. All they did was sit on a bench protected by a wooden kind of awning, plants growing all over it. Merlin stretched out in his seat, with his hands in his pockets and his legs extended before him, crossed at the calves.

“This is the life,” Merlin said.

Arthur angled his body towards Merlin. “Don't get too used to it. Just because we don't have rehearsals tomorrow doesn't mean you'll always be able to stay up late faffing about.”

Merlin looked over to Arthur and winked. “I can enjoy the now. The evening has taken a decided turn for the better.”

“Was it the removal of Taliesin or the satisfaction of your hunger that's making you enjoy yourself?”

Merlin's eyes crinkled as though he was about to laugh though he didn't. “Neither,” he said on a hushed breath.

Arthur didn't ask what it was that had done it. He had a notion he wasn't ready for the answer. His heartbeat had picked up, his stomach was curling in knots pangs and his hands were getting damp. 

“I suppose it will have to be a mystery then,” Arthur said. 

Merlin held his eyes for a long, long while, his smile cryptic, until he seemed to shake off his reverie, and his smile faded. At last Merlin shot upright again. 

“Where are you going?” Arthur asked, hoping Merlin didn't want to start the trip home just yet.

“There's a slide over there.”

Arthur squinted in the darkness. After a little straining he saw the slide. “It's for kids.”

Merlin had already approached the plaything and was now circling it. “I know. But I'm feeling like I want a romp.”

Arthur jogged up to the slide just as Merlin climbed it. “You're not going to, are you?”

“Watch me,” Merlin said, making himself small in order to push himself down the slide without hitting his head against the contraption's low roof. He landed at Arthur's feet, wearing a huge grin and with a manic air that left Arthur in no doubt as to Merlin wanting to attempt the descent again. Merlin rounded the slide again, climbed on top and went down anew and with as much glee as before.

On his further sallies, Merlin varied the placement of hands and feet; went down on his belly, and then again on his back; he climbed up the slide forward and backward and went down feet first and head first. On his fourth pass he was a bit winded, colour high even in the pale moonlight, his eyes sparkling.

Merlin's joy made Arthur less self-conscious so when Merlin slid down for the last time Arthur placed both legs either side of it, boxing Merlin's body in and preventing him from rising.

“What?” Merlin said as he looked up.

Arthur offered Merlin a hand up, which Merlin took. When he straightened Merlin was pressed so close to Arthur there was scarcely an inch between them. Arthur's cheeks warmed in spite of the cool night air and his heartbeat skipped. “Nothing.”

Merlin cocked his head as if he was trying to interpret that answer. “Um, okay.”

Their hands were still clasped. Arthur wasn't letting go and Merlin's fingers were sounding a rhythm on Arthur's wrist, circling his pulse point, caressing the skin. They were warm pinpricks that made Arthur hot. Fighting the urge to close his eyes and make a noise, one that would have been too unprofessional and revelatory by far, Arthur stood stock still.

Still urged by the same low simmering fire that was making him too hot, he leant closer, his eyes on Merlin's plump upper lip. He slanted his head to one side, tasting Merlin's breath against his, no longer able to watch as it crystallised in the air because they'd drifted so near. 

When Arthur's rationality made a comeback, sounding all sorts of alarm bells, their noses were a hair's breadth away. Those alarm bells sounding as strong as a Greek chorus in his head, Arthur stumbled back, recovered his balance and said as smoothly as he could, “It's late. I should take you home.”

“We have no rehearsals tomorrow!” Merlin said, his face scrunching up and his eyes losing some of their shine. “We could do something yet.”

“I've just remembered,” Arthur said, smoothing his jacket, “I have a phone interview tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, looking anywhere but at Arthur. “Right yeah.”

“I should have a good night's sleep if I want to give some sensible answers.”

“Sure, god forbid you sound like a prick to the press.”

Merlin had clearly tried to couch that in a jokey way but Arthur had a feeling that the word 'prick' was a bit of a stab at him. “No, I, well--”

Merlin's smile soon recovered, though this time it didn't touch his eyes the way it had before. “No, it's okay. It turns out I've digested everything and there's no more reason for me to be romping around.” He paused. “Is there?”

“I suppose not,” Arthur said, toeing the gravel. “Let's go back to the car.”

“I can take the bus,” Merlin protested. “I'll be home soon enough that way.”

“Don't be silly,” Arthur said, moving backwards to grab a hold of Merlin. “Car's out now. No sense in me not driving you.”

Merlin dug his toes in. “I'll save you some petrol.”

Arthur kept tugging. “Come on, I'm not in such dire circumstances.”

Only when Merlin's obdurate stupidity was pointed out to him, did Merlin surrender and accept Arthur's offer of a lift. Even so they didn't talk much throughout their drive and their goodbyes were more terse than Arthur had expected given the tenor of the earlier part of the evening.

And that, Arthur told himself when Merlin slammed the door of his car shut, was the reason why you kept things professional.

Arthur waved his arms, but the rhythm of the music slowed as if the melody was burning out. The orchestra's tempo sounded like an erratic heartbeat. It was a cacophony more than the pure wave of sound it should have been.

Merlin winced and wondered why it was they were playing so out of synch. He was also asking himself why he was joining in with them when he only had a solo with Elyan to practice for. 

“Don’t drag the tempo,” Arthur said, his movements so fast they were blurry. Arthur looked ridiculous with all of his waving.

Merlin made a mental note to tell him so even as he tried to follow the beat Arthur imposed. But his bow slipped and the cords twanged. He made the most horrific noise he'd ever produced while on his fiddle, a sound so jarring and ugly it beat his first attempts at playing music as a child.

He was playing the wrong notes, his tempo was false, and he'd lost all ability to master his technique. The sound of other instruments covered his. Noticing he was lagging behind, the other orchestra members turned towards him. And the more they looked at him with accusing eyes the more Merlin became incapable of playing. 

The stage lights blinded him. His fiddle became heavy. He couldn't hold it up!

“I want to hear that violin!” Arthur called all the while staring him down with fury burning in his blue eyes. They were actually so blue they seemed icy pale, not like Arthur's at all.

“I don't know what's happening,” Merlin mumbled, chin on his fiddle.

In a fit of evident rage, Arthur cast his baton away. “Why can't I fucking hear you, Merlin?”

Merlin didn't have an answer for that. He was blocked. He was murdering the tune and not in the good way.

Blinking, Merlin adjusted his stance, hoping there was a problem with that. When he was a child and taking lessons his stance had always been problematic. Then his music teacher corrected that and Merlin had started playing better and better. 

There was a rest period for the fiddle and Merlin used the pause to concentrate. He took a breath, preparing for his next entrance. But when the time came his right hand locked up and he lost all flexibility. He tried to let the bow work the string with softness and suppleness, to bend his little finger for better control, placing it at the very tip of the bow, but nothing happened. The notes he played were harsh and discordant.

Merlin stopped playing and looked at his fiddle, his beloved cheap fiddle, as if it was a stranger.

He even turned it over to check if the belly was cracked or the bridge broken. But everything was as it should be. If anything his violin looked shinier than usual as if it was mocking him. _See, there's nothing wrong with me. It's all you!_

“This isn’t working.” He shook his head, completely devastated. He'd lost his touch and all the other orchestra members were jeering at him.

“I agree,” said, Arthur. “You're a disaster. The worst violinist I've ever had the displeasure to hear. There's only one thing for it.”

“What's that?” Merlin asked timidly.

“You'll have to kiss me.”

“Kiss you?” Merlin didn't see how that could help but then again Arthur was striding towards him. 

He wasn't wearing tails anymore, but rather a fitted tee and jeans, and his hair wasn't gelled back as he had it styled the day of Merlin's first concert for the RPO. It was combed loose and shiny. Looking like a model on the cover of a romance novel Arthur came up to him, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and ravished his mouth with a filthy kiss. 

Merlin sat up in bed. “What the hell!”

Looking left and right, Merlin established that he was in his room and that Arthur shouting at him and then kissing him had just been a dream.

“Fuck,” he said, running the palm of his hand down the side of his face.

Over breakfast Merlin had ample time to wonder at the strangeness of his psyche and the dreams it had conjured. It was obvious that part of his dream had been conditioned by his fear of failure, Merlin thought, as he dunked a piece of toast into his tea. 

His inability to play a note, his regressing to a level even his five-year-old self would have laughed at were clear signals of that.

The other day he'd played a false note so his brain was presenting him with the worst case scenario and making it a nightmare.

But where the hell had the kissing Arthur part come from, Merlin wondered, as he sipped the rest of his tea. Yes, Arthur was fit. And, yes, for a moment the other night Merlin had thought that Arthur was going for a kiss. But he'd clearly read Arthur wrong. And even if he'd read Arthur right, Arthur hadn't wanted that kiss enough to make it happen. 

Merlin surely wasn't still hung up on that. His sex life wasn't so non-existent – though he had to cast his memory way back for an instance of a one night stand – that his psyche would still be thinking about that aborted chance with Arthur. Okay, maybe he should get himself a date but his subconscious wasn't trying to tell him he should try it with Arthur.

Even if he wanted to he couldn't.

He worked for the bloody man, and if not for him directly, then for the RPO. What would people think if he shagged his conductor? Merlin knew exactly what they'd think: that the reason he'd got a series of solos was because he was Arthur's lay.

“Which I'm not,” Merlin said aloud and to his empty room. He didn't know whom he was trying to convince.

Dissatisfied with the status quo, he cleaned up the table from the debris of his breakfast, dumped everything in the sink, and hurried to the bathroom for a quick shower. He still had to go to rehearsals today no matter the nature of his night time wanderings.

As hot water cascaded over him, though, his thoughts went back to his dream and its possible meaning.

If Arthur had kissed him, would Merlin have kissed back?

Hanging his head under the hot jet Merlin came to one agonising conclusion. He would probably have. Not that such a spur of the moment action would have been wise but he would have. So could his dream be a warning, his subconscious telling him that if he kept having the hots for Arthur he'd only mess up his job?

That was probably it, Merlin decided, nodding carefully as he turned off the water switches. He'd had a warning from his own subconscious and was meant to act on it. He promised himself he would.

Having made a decision, he went to rehearsals feeling calmer. Actually no, who was he bullshitting. He felt self-conscious about meeting Arthur again. He just had a new behaviour guideline. _Just pretend nothing happened and play your part,_ he told himself. But it sounded so much easier than it was. Just entering the stage made Merlin a little bit panicky. 

That was never good when you needed to play well. Worst of all, he'd been mentally stuck on Arthur and this meant that he hadn't practised much at home. He'd just fiddled for an hour and that had been it. 

“All right?” Elyan asked, taking his place at the piano when he saw him. “You seem a little preoccupied.”

“Oh, I think I have a cold. Nothing worse.” Merlin rubbed his nose for show.

Elyan took him at face value and opened the score.

Arthur chose that moment to enter the stage. Merlin shuffled, preparing his violin for use. He wasn't a liar, he lied abysmally, and equivocating with Elyan came pretty close. So by the time Arthur had joined them, his skin felt prickly and his cheeks were burning. He had a suspicion his ears were red too but then he could claim that was the cold. 

With Arthur looking on out of slitted eyes, Merlin prepared his bow. As he did so he glanced at Arthur. Aside from a slightly pinched look that might be due to the early wake up call for that interview of his, Arthur looked completely normal, if a tad detached. His voice when he gave Merlin the tuning pitch was polite enough. 

And then Merlin had no time to think because they had to practice. He and Elyan were off, Merlin remembering to keep the bow in a position that would have the latter hitting his index finger higher up than his normal. He bent his wrist a little, more than he otherwise usually did, and launched into the Polonaise.

As he played, Merlin had no eyes for Arthur. In fact, fearful that reality would replicate the dream, he only paid attention to the music, plunging in it with flair, Elyan following him. 

He only turned to Arthur when he knew a change in pitch or momentum was required. Otherwise he played the music as he knew it in his head; chasing the melody, lending it his soul so that it could take flight.

When the piece strummed to its conclusion, Elyan clapped. 

Arthur had gone bug-eyed. “You played the Devil's Staccato.”

“The Polonaise is Wieniawski's,” Merlin said, putting his violin down. “I thought I'd go for his methods.”

“You were...” Arthur said, clearly searching for words. “You were, um--”

“Fantastic,” Elyan said, not slowing down in his clapping. “I'd love to accompany you forever and ever.”

“Now, now,” Arthur said, tipping his chin up, jaw stiffer. “You were good. But don't let it get to your head.”

“Not even a little?” Merlin teased with a wink.

The hints of a smile threatened an outbreak on Arthur's lips. “Just make sure you always play Wieniawski's Polonaise the way Wieniawski would have played it.”

“All right,” said Merlin, “though I'm sure someone will pick on my grip.”

“Who cares about the old rant about the Belgian grip versus the Russian one when I can get that!” said Arthur, pointing at Merlin with his open palm.

Merlin's grin broadened. He stuck his chest out and said, “I'll try to give you some more of this then.”

This time that hint of a smile turned into the real thing.

The music from the rehearsal still echoing in his head, Arthur closed his score and watched the last of the orchestra members trickle out of the practice room. The last rehearsal, a general one for the whole of the orchestra, with their programme tried out in full, had yielded very good results.

The overall execution of the _Oberon Overture_ needed some more work, but Arthur loved a challenge, and it was nothing that couldn't be fixed. Merlin's execution of the Polonaise was downright chilling, mesmeric and perfect, and the whole orchestra excelled at the Dvořák. Arthur was looking forward to next week's concert. 

He was impatient for the world to hear what the RPO had to offer. He wanted to show off his ensemble and he wanted the world to hear Merlin's passionate version of the Devil's Staccato. Arthur had never heard a more powerful rendition. 

With that in mind, Arthur's eyes gravitated towards Merlin's retreating back. Once his Polonaise practice session was over, Merlin might well have gone home, but instead he'd stayed. He'd said he'd done it to make friends. To show the orchestra his support as he had by playing audience member for them on the night Muirden had last played. That had been nice of him.

Arthur shook his head. Only Merlin would say that. Soloists were divas sometimes or generally less prone to make pals with the rest of the orchestra. They'd do their thing, rehearse, and disappear till concert time came.

Merlin had turned that notion upside down.

Well, that was Merlin for you, a warm-hearted man if there was one. Except that Arthur shouldn't think so; if he did he'd start appreciating Merlin's finer qualities too much, causing him to make a go for him.

Shaking his head, Arthur picked up his score and made his way to the door. By the time he had, Merlin had thankfully already disappeared down the hall. Odds were that he was already out of the building, champing at the bit to go home and live his life. 

It was better this way anyway. If Arthur had caught up with him he might have said or done something stupid. He'd thought up a few lines that shouldn't be said at eleven in the morning and completely sober. Especially after he'd been so good at avoiding digging his own grave the previous night. He'd managed not to kiss Merlin. That had been a big sacrifice, now he should hold on to that victory and stay professional.

No, he shouldn't try and follow Merlin.

He opted instead for making his way to his office but before he could he found Gaius by the vending machines. Thinking a coffee was in order, Arthur joined him. As he fiddled with the change in his pocket, he approached Gaius. “So,” he said, inserting a fifty p coin in the slot, “I've just come back from rehearsals.”

Gaius slowly slurped at the remains of his coffee. “I see,” he said, “and where does that place you?”

Arthur pushed a button, selecting his beverage. “Somewhere I want to be.”

Gaius hummed against the rim of his cup. “You didn't seem to be so enthusiastic before.”

Arthur punched the button with the plus sign engraved on it to get more sugar in his coffee. “I'd never heard Merlin go Wieniawski before. The Devil's Staccato and a Russian bow grip go very well together and a long way to make yours truly ecstatic.”

“Those are probably better suited to the Polonaise than the Galamian hold and other techniques, yes,” said Gaius, finishing his coffee and binning it. “Merlin's a great Heifetz fan. He spent many an evening watching him on that tube thing.”

Arthur's hand faltered as he gathered up his own hot plastic cup and he burst out laughing. “YouTube, you mean?”

“Yes, the RCM isn't famous for the Russian bow grip, is it now,” Gaius said. “As for the tubey thing on the Internet, I don't get on with the times sometimes.”

“Well,” said Arthur, suddenly good-humoured and full of hope again, thanks to Merlin's YouTubing ways and his defiance of more Western techniques. “I never thought I'd owe my success to YouTube but this time it looks as though I will.”

Gaius' eyebrows shot upwards in unison. “I'm not sure I follow anymore.”

“Merlin's just great that way, isn't he?” Arthur said, stalking down the corridor with his coffee cup in his hands.

“I still don't get it,” Gaius called after him.

“You'll get it when you're on stage with us, Concert Leader.”

The stage darkened, and the noise from the audience hushed. The overture and the Dvořák had gone down really well and the public seemed to have loved both pieces equally.

Now Merlin was treading its boards, his heart in his mouth though he sought a way to concentrate. He placed himself centre-stage, his violin dangling from his hand, waiting his turn to start playing. 

He knew he had all eyes on him, could see the myriad upturned faces looking towards him for a spectacle. In moments like this Merlin still felt shy, not secure of his welcome or his abilities. 

He was aware he had this, had practised long enough, but still felt the thrill of fear travelling up his spine; he still thought of the countless ways this could go wrong. He still imagined the reviews he'd get if he flubbed it like he did the first time he'd tried Wieniawski's Polonaise without the staccato.

There was a ten second interval of complete silence from the audience. Arthur took a bow, indicated Merlin, cueing the audience to acknowledge him, and pivoted to face Elyan's grand piano.

Merlin rested his violin on his collarbone and stabilized it with his hand and neck. When he was satisfied, he nodded to Arthur.

Arthur smiled at him. It was encouraging.

Immediately afterwards Arthur gave a little cough. The audience roared to life, guessing they were going to get their finale before settling into a profound silence again. Arthur shifted his baton in the air. With a nearly impalpable gesture the music started.

Elyan played a few opening bars and Merlin tuned to the piano, making sure of the pitch. 

Their performance tonight had to be absolutely flawless. When Merlin began the introduction, the sound of the violin swelled with an allegro maestoso, high and buzzing with life, the melody enveloping the hall. 

The theme developed, slowing down to a grazioso that burst into a more powerful crescendo. Once again Merlin sank into his performance, giving way to Wieniawski's lyricism and passionate expression. 

Merlin attempted to voice to the music's tone, playing into its intense vibrato, a plucky, into-the-string tone, giving way to its mercurial, flash-fire dynamics that kept the piece's melodic line in a constant state of transition. He played the Devil's Staccato, the long and fast passages with their many short, separated notes. He fed the audience the melody they were craving.

He let it be the wild dance that Wieniawski wanted it to be; let himself be driven forwards by snapped, dotted rhythms and a rain of fervent triplets. He courted the spirit and character of the music, its violinistic razzle-dazzle of flying spiccatos and extended passages in double-stops, until at last he wound the piece to a close.

Covered in sweat, heart pounding, Merlin dropped his bow and sagged. He still wore a smile but he felt as though the performance had sucked him dry.

There was a few seconds' long silence and then the audience broke into applause so loud Merlin fancied the stage was vibrating. 

In answer Merlin smiled a dazed smile, the lights blinding him, the thunderous clapping deafening him. He took as deep a bow as he could even though he was less than graceful about it. 

Before giving a second bow, he waited for Elyan to join him and then shared a mutual one with Arthur before leaving the stage.

Since the audience was still clamouring for recognition, Merlin returned. The crowd stayed on its feet, clapping loudly, throwing flowers on the stage, voices rising and conveying their approval with cries of “Encore.” 

Merlin's legs were scarcely holding him upright and he wasn't sure he had what it took to play something else, or worse, more Wieniawski. He shared a waning smile with Arthur, whose eyes widened. He then nodded very subtly and addressed the audience.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you on behalf of the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, myself, and Mr Emrys. We cannot thank you enough for the warm reception.” Here more applause came, sounding, if anything, even more boisterous than before.

When the applause died a little, Arthur continued. "Um, I don't think there is much else I can say except that I think I can speak for everyone here when I say that we hope the music touched you and that we're glad we could entertain you tonight. Unfortunately, I think Mr Emrys is too tired for an encore but he'll be welcoming you in two weeks for a new concert.”

“Come if you liked this one,” Elyan interjected.

Merlin smiled and the audience laughed.

Arthur nodded, standing tall and proud, a little regal too, as he said a conclusive, "Thank you all."

After picking up some of the presents they had received, they left the stage. 

Merlin was hugging a tartan-clad teddy when the other members of the orchestra came up to him to clap him on the back. Elyan too sneaked on him from behind him and said, “Hey, would you like to come out and celebrate? After you've changed, of course.” He back-slapped Arthur too. “That goes for our maestro as well.”

Merlin shared a look with Arthur. He thought it would be wiser if they gave it a pass. Merlin's dream had been warning enough and as for Arthur, well, Merlin was sure Arthur didn't want to spend too much time with him or the other night would have ended differently.

And in fact Arthur was looking left and right as though salvation might come from either direction. There was an awkward air about him, about the way he swallowed and his pupils dilated, about the soft humming in his throat that said he was evidently buying time for an excuse.

Merlin lowered his head, not wanting to look as though he cared about the answer or the outcome.

It was Elyan's, “Don't act like two old pensioners on me, please. Or I'll have to think it's my company you're avoiding,” that changed their minds. 

Arthur's alarmed look told Merlin he'd thought the same as Merlin and that now they couldn't possibly refuse even though they were trying not to spend time together.

Neither of them having an excuse at the ready, they reacted at the same time. “I'll come!” Merlin said while Arthur came out with, “I suppose I can stay out for a couple more hours.”

“Splendid,” Elyan said, leading them towards their dressing rooms.

Half an hour later a group made up by himself, Elyan, Arthur, Freya, Sefa and Gilli made their way out into the night. Before Elyan could hail a cab, Merlin caught a glimpse of a man wearing a black coat and white scarf exiting Cadogan Hall.

Even as a black cab stopped by the curb Merlin stood rooted to the spot. “Is that--” he asked of Arthur, who had somehow ended up next to him

Arthur's mouth set grimly before he opened it to say, “Yeah, that's Edwin Muirden.”

“I didn't see him up close when I was at his RPO concert,” Merlin mumbled distractedly. “But I thought that was him.”

Arthur tried to shove Merlin towards the cab, though the cab was already full to bursting with their colleagues. “Yeah, he is.”

“What's he doing here?” Merlin asked. “He's fulfilled his contract, hasn't he?”

Arthur looked at his shiny shoes and his jaw locked. “I don't know. Listening to classical music,” he snapped.

Merlin's mouth fell open. “No need to be rude about it. I was just wondering if he liked the concert. He's—”

“Get in the cab, Merlin,” said Arthur, pushing him towards the back seat.

“I don't think we can squeeze him in,” said Freya reluctantly, after nearly having climbed on top of Sefa.

“We'll take the next one,” said Merlin, not wanting to inconvenience Freya. They looked like tinned sardines in there anyway.

“Are you sure?” said Sefa. “I could climb on top of Gilli.”

“I'm willing,” Gilli joked.

Traffic began to surge forward, and the cab driver pursed his lips, impatient for them to make a decision, so Merlin said, “Can't leave Arthur on his lonesome, can I? We'll grab another one.”

“Okay,” said Freya, “Elyan, quick, pass Merlin the address.”

Elyan was seated in the front, next to the driver so Merlin walked up to the front window. Elyan gave him the club's business card. “We'll be waiting for you. Don't do a runner. These are my friends we're going to see.”

“'Kay,” Merlin said, holding the card aloft. “No runners.”

The cab drove off and Merlin turned to Arthur. “So I suppose we should really find a cab.”

“It's a concert night,” said Arthur. “If we walk back towards Cadogan Hall, we'll find one.”

Merlin nodded and started walking back towards the concert hall, Arthur at his side. “Why were you so abrupt before?”

Arthur stuck his hands in his pockets. “No reason, Merlin. Honestly, don't be paranoid about everything.”

Merlin really didn't think he had been. If anyone had been overreacting that was Arthur. “Oh, are you cross with him because he gave the concert I subbed for a miss and nearly caused you to shorten your programme?”

“Don't be an idiot, Merlin,” said Arthur, herding him towards a free cab. “I don't bear grudges like that.”

Even as the words left his mouth, Arthur kept his back to Muirden, refusing to acknowledge his presence at all as they passed him to get to the cab. He swooped into the waiting vehicle without a word, leaving the door open for Merlin to follow.

Cab door closed behind them, Merlin scrutinised Arthur's profile. “You're an odd one.”

“You think too much,” said Arthur before leaning forward to give the cabbie the address.

Forty minutes later, Arthur stood in the doorway of the club Elyan had chosen for their post-concert celebration. It was a large and dimly lit nightclub hidden in a dark Soho alleyway.

One of the two paparazzos flashing his camera at him, Arthur just approached the biggest of the bouncers and gave him Elyan's name.

The man said nothing; he merely unhooked the rope and allowed him and Merlin to pass. The place seemed packed from the get go. Past the crowded doors, he and Merlin were greeted by two girls wearing burlesque costumes. 

Advancing into the bowels of the club Arthur had the feeling of stepping back in time: exploring the venue was like entering an old 1930s French boudoir with its candlelit hallways, blurred mirrors and erotically suggestive wallpaper. 

Merlin shared glances with him, a blush that shouldn't have been easy to spot in the current lighting conditions tinting the very top of Merlin's ears. “Peculiar.”

Arthur coughed into his fist, brushing his fingers along the length of Merlin's wrist in order to grab it. “Come on,” he said. “Since we're here we might stay a little bit. It would be rude not to.”

Merlin's eyes dropped to the point of contact between them. “Yeah, I mean it's clear Elyan likes this place. We should definitely give it a chance.”

Arthur let go of Merlin's wrist and continued down the dimly-lit corridor he'd been ushered into. Following it, they entered into the main space of the club

Even more people were here than near the entrance.

Some were standing by either of the two velvet curtained stages; others were scattered around the seating areas, chatting, laughing, drinking, their murmurs droning into a loud frenetic buzz. Other patrons were focused around the bar that stood out in the back of the room. 

Arthur and Merlin didn't make for the bar but for the corner booth that Elyan and the others had chosen.

“You made it!” Elyan said, making space for Arthur and Merlin in the booth. “We were starting to think you wouldn't.”

“There was a bit of traffic,” Arthur said, taking up the drinks list to choose from. “That's all.”

“There was,” Merlin said, about to launch into a description of the previous events. “It took us pretty long to--” Abruptly, he elbowed Arthur and said, “I think he's here too.”

Arthur, eyes on the drinks list, had to lift his head and follow Merlin's line of sight to get what he was talking about. But as soon as he did, he understood. “Muirden's here too.”

“Is he following us?” Merlin asked guilelessly.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Muirden, who was busy ordering from a waitress. Arthur couldn't think of any other reason for the man being here too if not for stalking purposes, but he didn't want Merlin to suspect. 

“Don't be paranoid, Merlin,” he said, moving in his seat to shield Merlin from Muirden's view. “This place is pretty in with a certain crowd.” Arthur appealed to a third party so as not to make this conversation with Merlin too intimate. “Isn't it, Elyan?”

Elyan turned around in his seat, eyes leaving the stage for the first time since Arthur and Merlin had fallen into their private conversation. “I hope so. I love it. The band that plays here Thursdays to Sundays is great. Kara, their singer, is unique. Fab girl. They're going to play in a while. There's always some entertainment to be had here.”

Merlin cast another glance in Muirden's direction. Like Arthur, he seemed doubtful as to the possibility of them being entertained tonight. “If you say so,” Merlin said.

“I say so,” Elyan told them both. “I swear, wait for Kara.”

Arthur elbowed Merlin in the ribs to get his attention away from Muirden. “Just read this,” he said, holding the drinks list under his nose, “and place an order. We're here to have fun.”

As Arthur said this the band took up the stage.. The lead vocalist was the girl Elyan couldn't take his eyes off of. She was an elfin creature with rounded cheeks. She favoured the punk style. But for the sexual sparks he gave off in relation to her, the bass player could have been her brother. He had wavy dark hair and spritely green eyes that always searched hers. 

Together with the other three less colourful members of the band they played a jazzy number people swayed to.

With the evening unfolding peacefully, Merlin smiled and relaxed. “You're right. I'm being a right idiot. I think I'll have a simple vodka shot.”

“Very uninnovative of you.”

“You thought my choice of drink would more artistic?”

Arthur buried a chuckle in his fist. “Yeah.”

“Is yours going to be?”

“No,” said Arthur. “I've had my eyes on the Martini options for a bit.”

“So not so artistic either,” Merlin said, an impish smile stretching his lips. “Even though you're a conductor and you must play too to be one.”

“Yeah.” Arthur's nose wrinkled in self-mockery. “Completely non eclectic, I admit.”

Merlin propped an elbow on the table. “What do you play, by the way? I never asked.”

“The pipe organ actually,” said Arthur, smiling at his own private memories. Morgana had always poked fun at him for that. She said it made him look like your stereotypical mad musician. “I can play the piano too but not in the same way. Elyan here is quite another thing.”

“Oh, no,” said Elyan, picking up on that strain of conversation. “Have you ever heard one of his own compositions? He's a genius on the piano too. It's just that he's a genius hobbyist on the piano.”

Merlin's mouth flapped open and closed. “You compose your own music?”

“Yes,” Arthur admitted, scratching at his neck the more Merlin looked pleased and proud. “Small stuff.”

“Anything for the violin?”

“I'm not that well versed in the ins and outs of the violin,” said Arthur, feeling he couldn't compose anything of the kind Merlin might find truly challenging to play. I--”

“I'd play it for you,” Merlin offered, eyes so wide and enthusiastic it nearly dented Arthur's heart.

Arthur tried to find the words to tell Merlin that he couldn't accept the offer – Merlin playing his music had the potential of being the nail in the coffin of Arthur's resistance – but the waitress came and took their combined orders, putting paid to that subject.

Thank heaven for small mercies. Arthur was hanging to his sense of ethics by a thread as it was.

After that the conversation became more general again. Freya's boyfriend and Gilli's on-and-off-again girlfriend arrived. Elyan told Merlin, “Go ahead and call your Elena.”

Arthur couldn't help stiffening at the thought of Merlin having a girlfriend when not days ago Arthur had nearly kissed him. He'd gone completely over the line with that. Bothered as he was he also had time to wonder what type of woman could have Merlin's heart when Merlin put a stop to Arthur's stray thoughts by saying, “Elena, why?”

“I know you said you were friends,” Elyan started again, “but you seemed so very cosy, and I thought maybe you needed just a little push to make things happen.” Probably not conscious he was doing it, Elyan looked back to the band's singer again. “I have experience with that. You need to become a mover to get what you want. And what better than a night out in a hot locale?”

“Oh,” said Merlin, an embarrassed smile plastered onto his face. “That's not... That's not what I'm after, Elyan. I'm gay.”

“Oh, sorry about that!” Elyan said, eyes widening gently. “I thought that maybe you were too shy to make a move on her or something and that, you know, I could help you get home with someone tonight. I didn't mean to pry.”

“You weren't prying,” Merlin said. “I offered.”

“Well,” said Elyan, trying to bounce back from his quasi faux pas, “that doesn't mean you couldn't try going home with a boy.” His eyes landed on the bassist. “I hear he's bi and, to be quite frank, you'd be doing me a favour if you, you know... He and Kara are too close for my taste...”

Merlin gave Arthur of all people a hesitant look, gulped, and said, “I dunno, I don't think I should.”

Arthur felt inexplicably relieved by tonight's revelations. His instincts hadn't been wrong; his actions, maybe -- almost kissing Merlin was a bad idea all around -- but at least he'd read Merlin right. He should concede the field now though. If Merlin turned to someone else who wasn't Arthur, Arthur would be free of any temptation, almost. But, to be honest, that wasn't how he wanted to achieve calm. Arthur would rather pursue detachment.

“Go on, Merlin, take Elyan's advice. I think we all need our fair share of mindless fun, don't we?” said Gilli, joining in the conversation while kissing his girlfriend's neck and blurring his words. “Or we'll be too tense to perform.”

“That's bullshit,” Arthur found himself saying without having actually meant to speak. Now he was in for a penny, in for a pound, and had no choice but to go on. “You don't need sex to play well.”

“But a musician who's just got laid would be more relaxed,” Gilli insisted, his hand meandering up his girlfriend's leg. “And musician who's all relaxed is going to play greatly.”

“I don't think so,” said Arthur, needing to make a point now just for the sake of doing so. “You could be too blissed out to be coherent.”

“I'm not talking quickie in the changing rooms kind of relaxed,” Gilli argued.

“I'd probably fall asleep,” Merlin said and Arthur's head whipped round.

Merlin reddened and said, “I get kinda sleepy... after. I mean more than most. And... I'd be playing lullabies to the audience.”

Merlin talking sex made his body thrum with a low key sense of excitation. Trying to rid his mind of the sexual thoughts Gilli had put into it, Arthur sipped his drink, letting the explosion of taste linger on his tongue. Still the conversation went on and Arthur couldn't help listening to it.

“But not if you, say, only got laid on the morning of a performance?” Sefa asked.

“No,” Merlin said, chortling gleefully. “I mean I haven't given many concerts but no... I'd be fine to go.”

“So he stands by me,” Arthur said, taking in Gilli and Sefa. “It doesn't make that much of a difference unless we're talking about a post endorphin-release slump.”

“Well, I don't know about that,” said Gilli. “I'm always for more sex. It's healthy. And it helps me perform.” He gave a shrug at Arthur's accusatory glance. “It works for me anyway.”

“And I'm so glad that it does,” said Gilli's girlfriend.

Everybody laughed but then the band appeared on the stage set up for them and they quietened, principally for Elyan, who wanted to hear the music on stage. The silence was enhanced by them losing the company of two members of their group; now that they had some accompaniment, Freya and her boyfriend took to the dance floor.

Merlin himself got enraptured with the music the band was playing, which was a discriminating mix of standards jazz pieces and newer music woven into a web of the classics. 

Like Merlin Elyan loved it clearly; the two of them were bright eyed and focused on the stage. But Arthur didn't share their passion for these more modern genres and felt more than a little left out until the sounds of a violin hit over the din of glasses and he could recognise the quality of the player.

“God, he's good,” Merlin said, not taking his eyes off the stage. “He's so good.”

Elyan clapped his hand on his thigh in time with the music, his other one wrapped around the back of his chair. “Yeah, it's not every day you get that kind of sound when playing more commercial music.”

“I'd love to play like that sometimes; modern, that is,” Merlin said, eyes wide with wonder. “I mean, sometimes I get to at parties. But never for real. I mean for an audience that's actually listening.”

Elyan beamed at Merlin. “I think I can make that come true.” He nodded to the stage. “See, Kara is my special friend,” Elyan said with a glint in his eyes that definitely hinted to more. Arthur had never poked into his musicians' lives but he did wonder now. The jealousy Elyan had displayed towards the bassist, his singling Kara out were indicative of more than passing interest. The two were more than friends. “I can get you to play with them.”

“Really?” Merlin asked, brightening at the prospect.

“Yes, really,” said Elyan, looking to Arthur next. “You too, if you want.”

“I'd die to,” Merlin said, longing for that narrow, ill-lit stage dancing in his eyes. His entire body strained towards it. He was pushing off his toes and humming a little under his breath. He was all a tremble, a keen sense of desire and enthusiasm enveloping him. In a few words, he looked like a kid on Christmas Eve. Arthur couldn't let him down. “Okay, all right, if they're okay with it, I'll take the piano.” 

Elyan winked. “Let's just wait for this song to finish.”

At the end of the piece the crowd applauded and Merlin downright whistled. The band took a break and retired backstage. Elyan absented himself to say hi to Kara and advance Merlin's request.

“Didn't know you played modern,” Arthur said, swirling the liquid contained in his glass.

“Didn't know you composed.” Merlin's eyebrow climbed perilously upwards.

“Touché.”

Merlin brushed shoulders with him, giving him a light, playful shove. “Was teasing, you know. And if you've a question, you can ask. We can do that, at least, I hope. Talk...”

Merlin looked so eager, a little flushed because of the excitement at the prospect of Elyan's plan panning out that Arthur only wanted to lean in and kiss him again. It got to the point that he wasn't even hearing anything other than his heartbeat playing staccato in his ears and seeing nothing but Merlin's lips and shining eyes. It was only the nagging thought of Muirden watching them from his table that stopped him from doing anything to ruin their careers. 

Even so his body gravitated towards Merlin for as long as it took Elyan to come back. “Kara says she'd be delighted to have both of you play with the band.”

Grabbing Elyan by the elbow and shaking his hand, Merlin jumped up. “That would be really great.” He turned around to Arthur. “Please, play with me?”

“I did say I would if they were okay--” Arthur said, looking around to get some support for his sudden shyness. But Freya and Gilli were off having fun with their partners, Elyan was on Merlin's side, and Sefa was texting. Then again he didn't have it in him to say no to Merlin's puppy eyes so he very reluctantly said, “But it seems as though they are so I can't go back on my word, can I?”

Merlin threw his arms around Arthur, one of his hands patting his back, the other at his waist, his nose buried against the side of Arthur's face, where it met his neck. Like this Arthur could smell Merlin's cologne and the whiff of fresh club sweat that coated his skin. It was heady and a little bit sensual. Arthur counted the sensory overload that came with a night of clubbing as one of the reasons people got laid more on a night out than in other circumstances. Horniness aside. Not that he was free of that either. Before acquiescing one final time, he gulped down the last of his drink and said, “Yeah, okay, Merlin, I'll look ridiculous for you, all right?”

Merlin went up to the stage to talk with Elyan's friend, Kara. “Hi, I'm Merlin.”

Kara bent to shake Merlin's hand. “Kara. So, Merlin, they tell me you're a great violinist.”

Merlin's eyes dipped to the ground, when he raised his head again there was a big blush on his cheeks. “Don't know about great but I play the violin.”

“Do you ever play modern?”

“Sure, I do.”

“Well, then, look through our scores and we'll see what we can settle on.”

“I'm sure we can find something to offer Merlin,” said the bassist. “My name's Mordred by the way.”

Back to choosing a piece they could both play, Arthur and Merlin went for _Por una Cabeza_ because Merlin swore it was easy and Arthur liked its rhythm. He wasn't mad about tango but Merlin seemed to be so he tried to accommodate him.

As it turned out Merlin could play tango brilliantly and infuse the song with as much sentiment and passion as he did classical music. Arthur had to play with him so he couldn't observe him as much as he might have were he a spectator. Even so, his eyes drifted to Merlin when they weren't on the score. And when he wasn't doing that he was following Merlin's beat and Merlin's cue in a reverse scenario of their usual doings.

Concentrating on Merlin's rhythm was a positive experience. For once they were in tune and on the same page. No need to butt heads or bicker as they had done in the beginning of their acquaintance or to avoid each other. Arthur had been shying away from the moment he'd realised that he felt something for Merlin that was extremely unethical. The notion had solidified for him from the moment Muirden had started throwing accusations. 

But now everything was working; the strands of the music they were making were fusing together, meshing, resounding in a tango rhythm of passion.

There was no discordance, no jarring note, just the piano chasing the violin and the violin sounding to the cadence of the piano.

The club's audience reacted well to their music. Couples took to dancing and those who knew how to do tango steps, or how to improvise them, went at it. The scene got a bit steamy and Arthur couldn't help throwing looks at Merlin. Unfortunately the bassist was doing the same.

At first Arthur tried to ignore both the sense of thrill the song was lending him and the burst of annoyance the bassist's interference was giving him. But he only managed for as long as the song lasted. 

After that he was forced to acknowledge both facts. However unwise it was, he still wanted Merlin. But this revelation wasn't crowned with any reaction from Merlin as he might have been were this a film. If this was one, after his epiphany he'd get the guy. But he didn't. He'd missed his window of opportunity, apparently.

Now that the music was over and they were on a break, the bassist, Mordred, was seriously hitting on Merlin with choice phrases like: “Are you sure that you don't want to ditch classical and play jazz-fusion? We could welcome you in the band--” and: “You'd be a hot addition. More hot than an addition though.” 

Merlin's answers were short and polite. He said he loved classical music. “Really, a lot.” And that he'd never let go of his dream of being a classical performer. “I like where I'm going.” He even looked to Arthur when he said that and continued while Mordred persevered in hitting on him.

In that moment Arthur felt that if he went over there, if he re-established the rapport he'd had with Merlin, then he could change what was about to happen.

He could be the one flirting with Merlin. He could be the one seeing where the night took them. He could be the one who acted on his instincts instead of carefully moulded, prudent plans. He even stole a shot glass from Elyan and emptied it in his mouth on his way over to Merlin and Mordred so as to imbibe some liquid courage. 

He was halfway there, an opener that would get Merlin to follow him already on his lips, when he caught sight of Muirden. He had a girl at his table. She was leaning towards him, her face angled just so that she could whisper things in his ear.

But Muirden wasn't paying the girl attention. He was tinkering with his mobile. Arthur was sure that if he went up to Merlin and made a pass, there would be photographic evidence ready to be presented to the Philharmonic's board of directors.

It would make some tabloid too. Not many people were interested in the ins and outs of classical music, and certainly not to the point of caring about what a conductor did in his private time, but on the odd chance that someone would, Merlin and he would land on page ten.

So even though Merlin sent him a last glance as though to okay his behaviour with Arthur, Arthur made his way back to his seat.

Merlin disappeared ten minutes later. When Arthur asked Elyan where he'd got to Elyan just grinned widely and said, “He got lucky.” Then he smiled at Kara. “If you'll excuse me, a certain lady is waiting for me.”

 

 

**End of Part Two**


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Three**

 

Mordred put down his bass and jumped off the stage. “So how d'you find us?”

Merlin smiled and pushed himself off the table he'd been half-sitting, half-sprawling against. “Brilliant, and you know it.”

Kara wolf-whistled. “He's just saying that to get in your knickers.”

Mordred grabbed Merlin by the waist and pecked at his mouth. Merlin's heart didn't jump into his throat as it should have so Merlin didn't chase more of that kiss. He merely listened to Mordred's words. “He's already got there,” he said, craning his neck to follow Kara's movements about the stage. “So he has no reason to lie about our prowess.”

Merlin wondered if they were still talking about music.

Kara switched off her mike. “They always have.”

“The way Elyan has no reason to lie?” Mordred asked.

Kara jumped off the stage and came over to ruffle Mordred's hair. “Just take your boy out on your date, Mordred.” With that she disappeared backstage.

Merlin was still partially wrapped around Mordred, his knee between his legs, but he couldn't help watching Kara's exit.

“So,” Mordred asked him, turning Merlin's face towards him, “where do you want to go?”

“I was thinking,” Merlin said, trying to get his brain back on track, trying to focus on Mordred and make this relationship work, “there's an exhibition at the Photographers' Gallery. Maybe that and then we can get a little sushi.”

“As long as we get to yours afterwards.”

“We can skip the gallery and order the sushi in?” said Merlin, kissing the corner of Mordred's mouth.

Mordred locked his hands behind Merlin's back and rubbed it up and down. He caught Merlin's mouth with his and pushed his tongue deep over Merlin's. “Nah, I'd love to go out with you.”

They did follow Merlin's suggestion, ending up laughing at the photos they couldn't understand no matter how hard they looked at them. They garnered some reproachful glances from the attendees and did try and curb their desire to make fun of the oddest photos. 

“This is much nicer,” Merlin said, looking with interest at a series of photos inspired by 1950s editorial looks. “I understand what it's about, at least.”

“Do you think we're too philistine?” Mordred asked, taking Merlin's hand. “That we should make more of an effort?”

“I think you should love what you love.”

Mordred let go of his hand to walk up to a large photo that took up a fair portion of a wall. “This one reminds me of the music we play.”

Merlin considered the picture. It was a suburban vista, with small figures dotting the landscape. Having sat through one of Mordred's band's sets he now realised what it was they were talking about, at least as far as their original music was concerned, the kind they didn't get to play much at the club in favour of more known sultry tunes that got the clientèle hot and bothered. “When did you get together?”

Mordred turned sharply. “With the band you mean?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. “You seem... attuned.”

“It was all Kara,” Mordred said, slipping his hands in his pockets as he kept his head up in the air, to, presumably, look at the rest of the exhibit. “She started it. Then she found Caradoc, that's our guitarist, and then... Well, I'm younger than her but we'd been friends a long time. Still, she didn't initially think I should make the band.”

Merlin couldn't see why. Mordred was an excellent musician. “But I don't--”

“I just don't think she thought I was ready,” Mordred said reflectively. “Because we were close she didn't think it was fair to the others who were trying out. To choose me...”

“She was afraid it smacked of a marked preference?”

“Yeah.” Mordred sighed. “Something like that.” He brightened. “But it doesn't matter now because I'm in and that's good.”

“You got what you wanted?” 

“Mostly.” Mordred shrugged. “We haven't seen the third floor.”

They visited the third and fourth floors and then they had a quick Go Sushi dinner. Afterwards Merlin and Mordred went to Merlin's. 

They kissed in the kitchen and lost their clothes on the way to Merlin's bedroom. Mordred sat on Merlin's bed and Merlin climbed onto his lap, taking his mouth.

Merlin's teeth tugged at Mordred's lips. As he ground down against him, his tongue tasted him. Both of them groaned, throaty and desperate. He duplicated the movement of his hips, and he was rewarded when Mordred’s hand slipped down to grasp at his arse.

After that things devolved quickly. Merlin pushed Mordred down and growled in his ear. “I really want to finger fuck you.”

Mordred's eyes opened very wide. “Who's stopping you?”

Despite his wanting it, Mordred was incapable of holding back a muffled gasp as Merlin slipped a finger inside him. His hold on Merlin's shoulder was white knuckled, but even so he was pulling himself closer to Merlin. “Is this all right?” Merlin asked. 

“Perfect,” Mordred said. “Go on. Get ahead.”

Given leave, Merlin did. He curled the finger he had inside of Mordred. Mordred's lips parted to release a long moan. 

Mordred sighed, then cursed, until his voice got too hoarse even for that because by that point Merlin had slid another finger in, rubbing over Mordred's prostate. As Merlin stroked him, Mordred's cock fattened and leaked.  
Mordred squirmed and moaned, bucked his hips and grabbed Merlin tight. 

The vision made Merlin hard too; but he didn't do anything to relieve the pressure because he wanted to get his friend off first.

“Come on, Merlin,” Mordred said, even while he leant his forehead to the crook of Merlin's neck in search for some closeness. “Come on.”

Merlin stabbed a third finger in, causing Mordred to tug on his erection with a vengeance. “More, Merlin, more,” Mordred rasped through clenched teeth.

Merlin tried his best to milk Mordred for all he was worth. But for all his thrashing and gasping, he still said, “I don't need you to go soft on me.”

“I have three in,” Merlin said, sweating.

“I just need more.”

With more lube and more stretching Merlin fed him a fourth. And when that wasn't enough, he slipped his thumb in, slowing all movement to almost nought. It was when he let his fingers brush against Mordred's prostate ever so slightly that Mordred came all over himself.

It was later, much later, after Merlin had disengaged and Mordred had come out of his zone, after Merlin's mind wandered to think a variety of things, including what Arthur would make of this, that Mordred reciprocated. He slipped from the bed to floor onto his knees and crawled closer. 

Merlin had been waiting so long he didn't think he could stand to be touched. Fortunately, however, he didn't spill the moment Mordred grasped his length, not when he gave it a long lick that went from base to tip. He didn't come but he did moan.

“I like that sound,” said Mordred, repeating his actions to get Merlin to make more noise.

When Mordred slipped his lips over the head of Merlin's prick and lapped at the drop of semen from the slit, Merlin grunted, and carded his hand through Mordred's dark hair.

Taking it as an invitation for more, Mordred pressed forward on his knees and stretched his lips around Merlin's cock, taking in him by degrees only to finally swallow him until Mordred had his nose buried in Merlin's crotch.  
And that was it, the levels of warmth and tightness had Merlin emitting ragged moans that punctuated his thrusting.  
A few hitches of his hips, more of Mordred's mouth and he was coming, harsh and sudden, body pleased and sated.

“Having sex with you is fun, Emrys,” Mordred said, slapping his buttock as his lips left Merlin soft and wet.

Kara being busy, Arthur spent the evening watching telly with Elyan. Elyan noshed on popcorn and wanted him to zap onto the sports channel. Aside from basketball, Arthur wasn't much of a fan of sports. Since there was no basketball on Arthur suggested they watch thirties films.

“Oh come on, Arthur,” said Elyan, trying to get Arthur to cede the remote. “Watching you mope is sad enough, but at least let's mope over something that isn't art house.”

Arthur pointed his remote at the screen. “Marlene is hardly art house.”

“Maybe not,” Elyan said, “but I do favour movies that have a bit more of a modern flair to them.”

Arthur eyed TV Guide. “Like?” he asked.

“Lots...” Elyan seemed to be at a loss to quote a title. “Why don't you grab that magazine so we can decide?”

Arthur studied Elyan's face, sceptical they would find something they both liked, but moved towards the chair he kept his magazines stacked on. By the time he'd come back Elyan had appropriated the remote and put on the football.

Arthur shook his head. “With friends like you...”

Merlin dipped his last chip in mayo and said, “Glad we came so early. So there's time for this.”

Mordred shifted his overnight bag under their table. “What, I'm quaking in my skin because of this meeting that might define my career and you're thinking about the chips.”

“I'm a very supportive boyfriend,” Merlin said, making a ball of his napkin and wiping his fingers at the edges. 

Mordred's face became serious. “I thought you knew it,” he said, over an announcement entailing a delay. 

“Knew what?” said Merlin, taking a sip of his cider as he tried to make out the repetition of the announcement, in the hopes it wasn't Mordred's train that was delayed.

“That we're not,” said Mordred, flailing a hand between them, “together, the boyfriend way.”

Merlin smiled softly and kicked at Mordred's foot. “Look, I know. I was just teasing. Playing a part. Being a flirt.” He made sure his happy expression didn't waver for one moment because there was no reason to be unhappy about any aspect of his life. Here he was making a career for himself. Here Mordred was, doing the same. At this juncture they were okay and Merlin didn't wish for more to happen. “It's okay. Truly.”

“Wow, for a moment,” Mordred said, hand over his breast, “I thought I'd messed it up completely and given you the wrong idea.”

“No,” Merlin reassured him calmly, sinking back into his chair wearing the self-same smile he'd had on since mid-afternoon. “Message got.”

“So you're definitely on the same page as me as far as being friends with benefits goes?”

Merlin set his plate aside. “Yeah, I am. You never played me.” Mordred never had and Merlin had never asked himself about a tomorrow with him. “I'm completely fine.”

“And you know that that means we're free to sleep around?” Mordred quizzed him as if he thought this was some kind of exam.

“Yeah,” said Merlin, finding Mordred's words a little comical, though he was sure they weren't. Not particularly. It was a lot of people's creed and he had nothing against it. Zero. He was fine. He certainly couldn't summon the will to be upset about this as Mordred seemed to fear he might. “I realise.”

Just when Mordred's eyes sparked as though he wanted to re-ignite the conversation, Kara arrived. 

She searched the pub for them and when she saw them she made a straight line for their table. She kissed Mordred on the cheek, sank next to him, while stashing her case under the table like Mordred had and waved at Merlin. When she caught her breath she told Mordred, “I thought you'd said the Paddington's McDonalds downstairs.”

Mordred shook his head, cheeks puffed out in denial. “No, you scatterbrain, I very clearly said The Mad Bishop.”

“No, you said you were having chips.” She tipped her head at Mordred's left-overs.

“Yeah,” said Mordred, throwing a droopy stale one at her. “And here they are. You just jumped to conclusions.”

Kara rolled her eyes but she didn't seem piqued. “Oh, well, I was so sure.”

“Yeah, I could smell the reproof from a mile off,” said Mordred, smiling at Kara. “Thank God Merlin here can support my version of events.”

Kara looked to Merlin. “Merlin's too sweet a boy not to support the girl in this equation.”

The edges of Merlin's lips quirked. He looked away but said benignly. “She's right though.”

Mordred mock roared at him, as though he was an angry wild cat who wasn't all that angry but posturing. “Traitor.” 

Merlin would have said something, but Mordred and Kara's train to Manchester was announced. Kara sprang to her feet, a little white in the face, rubbing her hands before hauling Mordred up by the jacket. “That's us, young lion. That's our train.”

“We've still got ten minutes and you know there's no reason to be nervous.”

“I know,” Kara said, picking her bag up again. “We'll slay them and get that contract.”

“We will,” Mordred said, leaning in to kiss Kara's cheek. Abruptly he pawed at his pockets for change. “Merlin, did we pay for our order?”

Merlin nodded his head. “Yeah, we did. God, his meeting has you both in a tizzy.” He waved his hands at Mordred and Kara. “Just go before you get me nervous too.”

Mordred and Kara giggled at each other. “That's true,” Kara said.

“Yeah, well, then we'll be going,” Mordred said, “unless--”

“Mordred, I'm fine,” Merlin said, still making shooing motions at his companions. “I'll order another beer and then go home. Meanwhile, go get it.”

Mordred and Kara nodded at each other and left the pub just as Merlin went to the till to get himself a second half pint. “Break a leg,” Merlin mouthed, as Kara and Mordred disappeared from view.

Morgana passed him the hot cup. “So the rehearsals for the third concert did you in.”

Arthur took a sip and sank his chin into the scarf he was wearing indoors. “That or the horrible weather,” he said hoarsely.

“You do sound bad,” Morgana conceded, sitting back in the armchair opposite Arthur's plush sofa. “So nasal.”

“Ha, ha,” said Arthur, the cup he'd placed on his chest jumped with each 'ha' sound coming from his thorax. “Thank you, that's very kind. Rib the sick man.”

“So what are going to do about the rehearsals?” she asked.

“What do you think I'm going to do?” Arthur asked. Morgana knew him well enough to be able to guess. “I'm going to work tomorrow.”

“You mustn't be that sick then.”

Arthur coughed and splattered a little tea on his shirt. Thankfully it was the ratty one he'd changed into as soon as he'd made it back home after having curtailed today's practice session. “I am. I cut my orchestra off an hour into rehearsals.”

“Oh my,” said Morgana. “I'm sure that missing thirty minutes of precious rehearsal time will have them all discombombulated come the 23rd.”

“No,” said Arthur, setting his cup on the floor and dabbing at his chest with a Kleenex. “Obviously not. But it's usually not done.”

Morgana crossed her arms. “You know what I think is happening?”

“That I've caught a 24-hour bug?”

Morgana tapped her fingers on her arms and crossed her legs at the same time, looking menacing. “I think I know the reason why you feel under the weather and skipped my latest party.”

“Because your parties are boring?” Arthur interjected.

“Because Merlin brought along that new friend of his, Mordred,” Morgana said, pronouncing a name Arthur had been trying to forget for the past two weeks. “That's why.”

“That's bullshit,” Arthur said. He didn't like the idea of Mordred one bit. He was aware of having lost out to him because of an adverse set of circumstances. But he surely wasn't the kind of person who put his and someone’s else job on the line because of his feelings. Hell, if he'd wanted to go with his feelings and put his job second then he'd have gunned for Merlin in the first place. He hadn't, had he? He'd lost because he'd been patient and temperate. “You know I wouldn't snub my orchestra for such selfish reasons.”

“Not knowingly,” Morgana conceded. “But maybe you felt so down and low you brought the flu upon yourself.”

“It doesn't work that way,” Arthur said, dabbing at his nose. It was clogged.

“I think you'll find it does.”

Arthur turned his face away. There was no arguing with Morgana sometimes. She was like a hamster spinning its wheel. She just followed her own thought processes, never to be influenced by anyone else's. Silence generally bored her to tears though and made her back off. She needed life and chatter so she could level her wit at you. Without it she positively wilted. Better not address how askew her medical notions were.

Arthur was just thinking he'd succeeded in boring her, especially after she'd started tapping her foot on his carpet, when Morgana started again. “He looked happy with Mordred.”

“Why should he have looked unhappy?” Arthur said, heart kicking against his ribs in protest but perfectly aware of the fact that there was no reason why Merlin should be less than satisfied with his choice. It had been a free one. “He was there with his boy-toy.”

Morgana smirked, amusement shining in her eyes. “Taliesin was quite put out. First you steal him away from one of my parties--”

“Boring parties--”

“And then Merlin turns up with leather boy,” said Morgana, sounding not entirely amicable. “It was obvious he wouldn't be ecstatic.”

“Then he should learn not to use his position to pursue bright young things.”

“Now, now,” said Morgana, uncrossing her legs. “Don't be a git. You're older than Merlin yourself.”

“By eight years, not thirty!”

Morgana tutted. “Pfft, you wouldn't even be here if Father hadn't married a much younger woman after my mother.”

Arthur thumped a fist on his leg. “I really don't want to talk about that.”

Morgana was clever enough – Arthur wanted to think she was sensitive enough – not to dwell on the subject of Arthur's mother. One of their earliest quarrels saw her treating the subject lightly. Taken off balance he hadn't said anything; he'd just left the room and stopped talking to her for weeks. At the time they had been living under the same roof and it hadn't been easy. Later when she'd confronted him about him avoiding her, he'd exploded and told her just why he hated her sarcasm and rapier tongue. Since then Morgana had been much gentler on the subject of Arthur's mother. (Not that he wanted her to think he was made of glass but he certainly didn't appreciate her humour being aimed at his mother.) As for now it was clear that she was spinning her wheels for something to say that would help her bypass the awkward moment she'd just spirited into being.

She hummed, her eyes tracking emptiness. He knew she had something to say the moment her eyes lit up. “Mordred isn't that much into Merlin, though,” said Morgana.

Arthur snorted. “How can you even say that?”

“He was constantly on the phone at my party.” Her lips curled. “That's hardly the kind of behaviour you display when you're enjoying spending time with your new man.”

Morgana probably thought this revelation of hers would make Arthur feel better. It didn't. He'd wanted Merlin for himself, true. But he didn't want Merlin to be unhappy with the person he was with. The fact of the matter was that he wanted Merlin to be fine. Besides, if some time in the future Merlin became free to date – when this series of concerts was over, that would be possible – he didn't want it to be because Mordred had given up on Merlin.

He wanted Merlin to choose him.

Unlikely at this point since Arthur had given Merlin a pass first, but ideally that was how he wanted things to go. However Merlin wasn't likely to tread that ground again. “He might have been on the phone with his agent,” Arthur said, thinking of possible explanations for Mordred's behaviour. “Merlin hasn't spoken much to me about him, but this much I know: he's looking for new gigs for his band.”

“Merlin didn't look as if he was in love either.”

Arthur palmed his temple. He really didn't have the patience. “You said, and I quote, he looked happy.”

“Happy,” Morgana said, brushing imaginary lint off her dark tights. “Not in love.”

“Because you can make out the difference?”

“He was having less fun than when the two of you fled my party and he didn't look moonstruck,” said Morgana. “He didn't look like someone who is deeply in love.”

“I doubt he had time to fall deeply for anyone,” Arthur said, pulling up his blanket and folding his arms under it. “But you can't know for sure. You can't know whether he's into Mordred or not.”

“Oh, I can,” Morgana said, her nose up in the air. “I have instincts about these things. Pretty good instincts.”

The doorbell rang just when Arthur was about to tell Morgana to sod off. 

He sat up, an eyebrow wrinkling up. “Who could it possibly be?”

“You won't know unless you open,” Morgana told him in the tone of a prim schoolteacher.

Arthur kicked away his blanket, shivered at the loss of warmth and padded barefoot to the door before yanking it open.

Merlin climbed the stairs to the fourth floor of the building. It was a ritzy one not that far from the pizzeria Arthur had first taken him. There was a lift available but taking the stairs had been a purposeful choice.

Merlin had needed to take his time and calm his nerves before facing Arthur. Now he was lamenting his choice. These stairs were steep. He took the steps slowly, pacing himself, only realizing that he looked bizarre when one of the flat occupants asked him on his way down – “Looking for something?”

“Yeah, actually,” Merlin said, gripping the banister hard. “But it's more like someone. I work with Mr Pendragon?”

“Oh,” said the man, who'd stopped on the landing a little above Merlin. “He lives on the fourth floor. One more flight to go.”

Merlin made a great show of being out of breath. He wasn't really; he'd gone too slow for that. But tiredness would explain his loitering in a non-creepy way. “Okay, thanks.”

“Glad to be of help,” the man said, crossing paths with Merlin on his way down.

The lodger gone, Merlin took to climbing the stairs again. He got to the third floor sooner than he’d had a mind to but realised that there was nothing for it but to sound the doorbell. Not unless he wanted to loiter like a weirdo lounging in buildings that weren't his. So he did.

He heard soft footfalls and the sound of the tumblers turning in the lock.

“Merlin?” Arthur said, both his eyebrows converging. With his mouth open at the sight of Merlin, Arthur looked more than mildly surprised. And rather cute. He wore a tatty but cosy shirt Arthur would never be seen in at Cadogan Hall. He was also barefoot. As Merlin looked, he wiggled his toes on the carpet. That came across as oddly endearing. It did make Merlin want to smile, just as much as the thinness of Arthur's chest made his mouth a little dry. 

Aside from that the lighting in Arthur's flat was also less harsh than most and it made Arthur look even more attractive than under the garish lights of the stage. Arthur managed to look good under those too when most of humanity simply came across as rather rugged, but today he looked particularly nice. Red about the nose but nice. 

Merlin's breath caught in his throat and he had to gulp down hard to appear smooth and balanced. He was a bit stricken by Arthur's looks. This kind of thing happened to everybody. Who didn't fancy someone that wasn't theirs at least occasionally? To dissuade himself from these thoughts he told himself to think of Mordred but that didn't help. He still found Arthur objectively attractive, in particular now that he'd seen the man on his own turf.

He wouldn't do anything. Christ, he wasn't like that. Arthur didn't want him and he wasn't about to throw himself at him, but he could still feel a stab at his heart when he thought of him. It wasn't as though he could bury those feelings so quickly. He would, in time. 

“I--” he said. “I hope I didn't wake you, but I, I could see you weren't okay today and I thought I'd check with you to see if you needed anything?” He pointed his thumb backwards at the hallway behind him. “I can go grocery shopping for you or pop by Boots and buy you meds. Whatever you need.” Merlin realised he was rambling and stopped blathering before he could sound like a complete idiot. Suppressing a wish to hug it to his chest, he gripped the handle of his violin case as tightly as he could, and smiled as helpfully as physically possible. He felt like a shop assistant during the Christmas rush. 

“That was very kind of you, Merlin,” Arthur said politely yet stiffly. “I'm doing all right. I just caught a bug or something.”

“I see,” Merlin said, dithering on the threshold.

“I-um--”

Just when Merlin thought Arthur was about to turn him out with another thank you, Morgana slinked past him, shouldering her bag. “Hello, Merlin, why don't you go in? I was just going and I'm sure Arthur would want nothing better than your company.” She placed her hand on Merlin's shoulder and winked. “I'm afraid he's too proud to ask and too ill to be left alone.”

Arthur goggled, spluttered and pushed off his toes in an attempt to stop Morgana. Merlin had a feeling he wanted her to retract her words. However, it was highly unlikely she'd be doing that any time soon, since she'd already flung herself across the landing and started taking the stairs down.

“Um,” Merlin said, indicating the space behind him. “I can go if you just want to have some peace and quiet.”

Arthur's knuckles were turning white around his grip of the lintel. “No. Please, come in. I didn't mean to be rude.” Arthur motioned him into his flat and closed the door behind him.

The flat opened directly onto an open plan living room from which the kitchen and an entertainment area were visible. On his left were two closed doors. Merlin guessed the first had to be either a bathroom or studio and that the other one was sure to lead into Arthur's bedroom. He nipped any thought relating to Arthur's bedroom in the bud, as one that was best avoided. He let his thoughts dwell on other aspects of the flat. 

The place had more of a lived-in air than Merlin had thought possible for Arthur, who seemed to often be absent from home. Scores lay on the working top in the kitchen, there were dents in the sofa, making it clear Arthur had been lounging there, and a soft-looking fleece blanket was thrown backwards over its length. The faint smell of herbal tea permeated the air. Merlin located the cup at the foot of the sofa.

“So, Merlin. How can I help you?” Arthur said, hugging himself. His cheeks were tinted with a splash of colour which might be due to fever, and his pupils had grown large. If Merlin hadn't known that Arthur was ill, he'd have interpreted his bodily clues in the wrong way entirely. 

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief at the thought that he hadn't made a mistake at the club. However much Arthur had seemed to be flirting with him at one point, it was clear he had nixed the idea by repeatedly making no move. The same way he had restrained himself in the park.

Merlin found it hard to shake himself free of his reverie about their status to say, “I didn’t wake you, did I?” Merlin had a notion he'd said that before and realised belatedly that even though Arthur was ill, it was unlikely he'd be napping when Morgana was there. 

“No,” said Arthur, “I was just lollygagging on the sofa there. Morgana had the same idea as you; came to look after me. She brought me herbal tea. I was drinking that.”

“You're close, aren't you,” Merlin said, gesticulating between Arthur and the door to indicate the absent Morgana. 

“She likes to come and tease,” said Arthur with a lift of his shoulders. “She heard I wasn't feeling too well and had to see if she could poke fun at my runny nose or something.”

“You don't look like your nose is all runny.” Merlin looked at his shoes then back at Arthur. “I mean you look pretty good for someone who's down with the flu.”

“Thank you.” Arthur moved his weight from foot to foot.

“I'm keeping you upright,” Merlin said, rubbing at his hair with his free hand. “I was supposed to come and see if I could help and instead I'm keeping you out in the cold.”

“It's no bother, really.”

Merlin searched Arthur’s face for a sprinkling of happiness at having Merlin there, but found nothing but politeness in his controlled expression. _Why did I even think to come_ , he wondered. As it often happened with him he hadn’t thought his actions through. 

All morning he'd watched Arthur slowly losing it as he tried to direct them. He'd been so out of it that he'd cued them for an allegro with some forty-second delay when the orchestra had clearly moved forward. He'd watched him try to pull himself together to at least to finish the first part of their rehearsals and he'd watched him capitulate and declare that since he wasn't feeling on top of things he wouldn't be wasting more of their time. 

Arthur had been very apologetic, rubbing at his hair and looking from one to orchestra member to the other with a sorry air. He'd said he didn't understand how this could be happening and that he was sorry. 

Everybody had said that he should go home and look after himself but even so Arthur had stayed for a few more minutes seeing them through the first act of the composition they were tackling. 

After that Merlin had been unable to do anything but want to see if Arthur was fine. He'd said as much to Elyan. The man had shared his worries and given him Arthur's address immediately.

Merlin had asked him if turning up at Arthur’s unannounced was a good idea and Elyan had said, “Believe me, you couldn't have a better one,” while sporting a very knowing air. After that Merlin hadn't needed more nudging to follow his heart. 

Yet here he was now having all sorts of doubts and feelings while he was put at arms' length by Arthur. 

“Look,” Merlin said when Arthur didn't say anything more, “I can see you’re tired. I didn't know Morgana had had the same idea as me and I doubt I can do better than she has. I should really get going.” He spun on his heel and trotted back towards the door.

“Stay.”

Merlin turned and gazed dumbstruck at Arthur, unsure what to do. He couldn't be sure Arthur wasn't just being polite, albeit in his curt way. Maybe he just wanted to do the right thing even though he wished for nothing better than for Merlin to stop bothering him. Or perhaps he really wanted some company or a helping hand. It was hard to gauge because Arthur was thrifty with words and he was keeping his features in check. 

“Please, Merlin,” Arthur said, gesturing to the living room to invite him back. He wore a little moue approximating a smile.

“Okay, all right,” Merlin said, propping his violin case against the hall wall. “I could make myself useful. Make you something to eat. I bet Morgana, as classy as she is, didn't get her hands dirty in the kitchen.”

“You would be right.” Arthur gave him a small smile that made Merlin flustered. “And that would be fantastic, thank you.”

Arthur had sounded so nice, polite and a bit unsure of himself that Merlin couldn't help but respond. “Okay, go back to the sofa, I'll cook up something.” 

Before tackling it, Merlin eyed Arthur's kitchen circumspectly. Having subsisted on take away and very, very basic food ever since he'd taken to living alone, Merlin couldn't in all honesty say he was that great of a cook. And he had no one to quickly text for a recipe. 

His Royal College friends had their heads in a score most of the time and Elena was an unmitigated disaster when it came to whipping up even the simplest of dishes. Give her a range and she might as well set a house of fire. Which she almost had; her own. 

Merlin had to rely on his own skills now. Filled with a little bit of wariness at the thought, Merlin opened the fridge and studied its contents. 

He supposed he could make toast. Arthur had ham and cheese slices, butter and mayo at his disposal and Merlin wasn't too bad at toasting bread. He guessed that it might go nicely with one more cup of that tea Morgana had brought Arthur.

Decision made, Merlin started pottering around. He toasted the bread, buttered it up, and placed the ham between the slices, adding a dollop of mayo just because he thought Arthur might like it better more heavily seasoned. “Plates?” he asked.

“In the cupboard,” Arthur told him, his voice easy, informative.

When he'd found the specified cupboard, Merlin dished the toast he'd made and turned around to serve it to Arthur. Arthur was lying on his sofa, tucked under his blanket.

At the sight, Merlin's heart moved in a somersault. Breath coming short, he could do nothing but wordlessly extend the dish to Arthur. 

Arthur took it from him hands, their fingers inadvertently brushing, and placed it on his stomach. “I really shouldn't have asked you to cook for me.”

“You didn't; I offered.” Merlin turned around and went to the kitchen corner, where at least he didn't have to suffer more of Arthur's scrutiny. His antics were odd enough. Once there he put the electric kettle on the boil and straddled a chair to wait for it to be done.

The kettle though was pretty was fast working and in less than three minutes the tea was ready. 

Merlin poured it into a cup and marched back to the sofa, holding the container carefully in both hands to avoid spillage. Arthur's carpet did look expensive and of the sort to be forever ruined if any accidents occurred. “There,” he said, placing the cup on the table shored up against the side of the sofa. “I hope this helps too.”

“Thanks.” For a while Arthur ate and drank quietly, and silence weighed between them. At last Arthur washed down the last of the toast with a sip of his tea and put away dish and cup. “I'm sorry I had to come home and abandon the orchestra earlier today. I would have loved to give you guys a chance to rehearse properly.” 

“Arthur,” Merlin said, taking a seat in the armchair across the sofa Arthur was lounging on, “none of us resents you for that or thinks you any less of a brilliant conductor. You weren't feeling fine; that's all. We can make up for the lost time tomorrow or the day after.”

“I know it's not the end of the world,” Arthur said. “But it's what I accused Muirden of doing and suddenly, I'm doing it myself.”

“It's a different scenario, though,” said Merlin, taking in the general slump of Arthur's body. “Let's be honest, when he called in to say he was ill, he only gave you a few hours' warning and on top of that he didn't put off a rehearsal but an entire concert solo people had booked months prior to see. It's different.”

“I don't think he'd agree.”

“There's something you're not telling me.”

Arthur closed himself off, Merlin could tell. “What wouldn't I be telling you?”

“I don't know,” said Merlin, “but there's something you're clearly not. Was there a reason he was at the same club as us the night I met Mordred?”

Arthur threw his head back against the sofa's headrest. “What do I know, Merlin?” He closed his eyes so they too became as unreadable as his expression. “Maybe he was just there so he could ogle you and your boyfriend.”

Meanness tinged Arthur's tone, as if he'd deliberately aimed for a low blow. “Hey,” Merlin said, cautioning Arthur against being a prat, “watch it.”

Arthur huffed and opened his eyes, levelling a cold look at Merlin, one that came replete with an eyebrow quirk.

“And besides me and Mordred, we're not--” Merlin flailed his hands. “That.”

Arthur's eyebrow pushed further up. “What are you then? Members of the Rescue Society for the Poor and the Afflicted?”

Merlin scoffed, a step away from actually being angry. Why was Arthur being sarcastic with him? So what, Merlin had been a bit quick at getting with Mordred. He was young and Mordred was free. He was even a good type of guy to go for, since he wasn't Merlin's boss. It was all very rational and above board. There was nothing immoral about what Merlin was doing and if Arthur was rubbed the wrong way by Merlin having a few friendly encounters with Mordred, well, then he could have made a pass himself.

They would have been in a pickle with the orchestra then, but at least it would have been an honest one as far as the both of them were concerned. “No, don't be daft. We're friends...”

Arthur looked at him out of very narrowed eyes.

“With benefits,” said Merlin, telling the whole truth. “And I like him lots but that's where we're at, I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” said Merlin, shifting and pulling the sleeves of his jumper over his hands. “We talked and we said we'd be casual.” The truth was that they hadn't talked much for the first two days at all. Mordred had stayed at his, even while Merlin went to rehearsals, had sex when Merlin was in, and otherwise shared little. Mordred wasn't as talkative as he looked. Only at the station had Mordred crossed the Ts with him. But Merlin had been okay with the T-crossing. 

The day Mordred had returned from Manchester and his big meeting, Merlin had turned in bed and said, “You know I'm really fine with what you said, don't you?”

Mordred had grinned and said, “Yeah, I had an instinct you wouldn't be that serious about me.”

But Merlin wasn't about to tell Arthur that he'd hadn't paid attention to the 'fine print' until days after he'd got laid. He was human and sometimes he did act on pure and less than lofty instincts. That didn't mean that he wanted Arthur to know the ins and outs of it, especially since he had an inkling he'd lose Arthur's respect if he did.

“Casual,” Arthur repeated, rolling his eyes.

“Hey!” Merlin said, piqued. “Don't tell me you've never initiated something to just get your rocks off.”

Arthur blushed. “I have. Obviously I have.”

“Then why are you not okay with me doing the same?”

Arthur's lashes went down; they were gold and so, so fine. “I am. I'm fine. It's just--”

“Please, let us be friends?” Merlin said it with enough emotion that impulse transferred to his body and he found himself sitting on the very edge of his seat. “Please.”

Arthur laughed softly and shook his head. “Yes, yes. We can. I want to be.” Arthur paused. “I'm sorry for prying.”

Merlin put his hand on Arthur's, lying over his blanketed stomach. “It's not prying if you're my friend. If you're my friend it's looking after me.”

“I wish my actions were always spurred by instincts as pure as that.”

Merlin squeezed and let go of Arthur's hand before he could let the touch go to his head. “I'm glad we're fine now.”

“We are.” Arthur brought his nearly drained cup of tea back to his lips. Merlin had no idea what he could be drinking from it since only the dregs were left but Arthur went through the act before he relinquished his cup. “We are.”

“We just won't be talking much about it, will we?” Merlin said, with laughter colouring his voice, trying to make the situation lighter, “because you like being private.”

“I don't like wearing my feelings on my sleeve,” Arthur said, correcting Merlin of what he must have seen as his misapprehension. “There's music for that.”

“Yeah, there's certainly music for that.” He thought wistfully of playing together with Arthur or Arthur directing him on stage. Music was a great way to put yourself out there through someone else's work. “Though you can also hide behind it. It's the composer's feelings. His moods. Not yours.”

“Sometimes,” Arthur acknowledged. “But sometimes you can play to your moods.”

“I hope we can play together again one day,” Merlin said, making an offer that was coming out of nowhere. “For fun.”

“Maybe,” said Arthur, setting his cup back on the table. “For now just make sure you turn up tomorrow.”

“Aren't I the one supposed to say that?”

“No, I may have the flu, but I'm always your conductor. Always sure to turn up.”

Merlin wiped at his trousers. “You're right.” He rose from the armchair. “So let's put it like this. I promise I'll be there tomorrow bright and early, bearing coffee if you promise the same – minus the coffee or we'd be looking at an overdose of caffeine.”

Arthur laughed though his teeth, as though he hadn't expected he would be laughing at all and wanted to stop. “Without caffeine,” he promised, looking up just as Merlin leant over Arthur and kissed his brow softly. 

Their faces were scant inches away; Merlin saw a spark of something in Arthur's light blue eyes. He couldn't tell what it was, but he felt the same kind of spark in his bones. As he did, he realised he wanted to kiss Arthur, and not on his brow. He longed to touch his face with his lips, plumb his mouth with his tongue, and play him as he did a violin. Discovering Arthur with his palms and fingers, with his lips and the whole of him was what he wanted to do. And for just a moment, he was sure Arthur felt the same as him, that they were back where they'd been at the park or at the club. But the moment evaporated with a quick exhale on Arthur's part and Merlin's drawing back. “See you tomorrow then.”

“Yes.” Merlin smiled before adding, “And I promise I'll be dutiful and practice for as long as you like.”

“Promises,” said Arthur, but he looked as though he was only teasing.

Merlin knew it would be folly to push and test the boundaries of what he and Arthur had. Merlin had a nice friends with benefits situation with Mordred that was reasonable, a job and reputation to think about. If that hadn't been good enough a moral 'down boy', the fact that Arthur, who was perfectly free to come to him if he wanted, hadn't made a move was telling enough. 

Arthur had made the same choice as he had and Merlin would respect that. Raising a hand in goodbye, he went back to the hall and retrieved his violin case. “You know you can ring me if you don't feel well.”

“Sure, Merlin,” said Arthur, resettling on the sofa, looking more content than Merlin had found him. “But I think it's safe to say I won't be rushed to the hospital tonight.”

“No, of course not.” Merlin shook his head and opened the hall door. “But I just wanted you to know I'm there.”

“I know,” Arthur said, his tone warm, finding all the chinks in the armour Merlin had wrapped around himself to stay rational around Arthur. “You're a good friend.”

“Well, good night, then, Arthur.”

“Good night.”

Back at home Merlin found Mordred preparing himself a cucumber sandwich and had a sense of deja vu. “Want one?” Mordred asked as Merlin left his violin case in its specially designed cupboard. 

“Nah, I'll make myself some canned soup.”

“As you wish,” Mordred said, slipping a sprinkling of lettuce in the filling of his sandwich before covering it up with a second slice of bread. “But I'm telling you, I'm good at sandwiches.”

“Pass.” Merlin sank onto his sofa, looking to the phone and wondering whether it was too late to call Elena. After leaving Arthur's he'd taken the long way home. He'd done it on purpose so he could think. He'd thought a great deal but he'd frittered a lot of time away. If he wasn't mistaken Ellie had a shift at the store tomorrow. He didn't want to wake her. He wagered this meant he had to face the music now rather than later. “I have to tell you something.”

Mordred plonked down next to him on the divan, feet on the coffee table, sandwich in his hands. “Me too, actually.”

“You first then,” said Merlin, imitating Mordred's posture, sans sandwich.

“It's about you and me,” Mordred said. He gave his sandwich a little bite, munched carefully with his mouth closed, then continued, “You're a really great guy.”

Merlin leant his head back and laughed. “But--”

“But--” Mordred shook his head. “This is going to sound awful.”

Merlin placed his hand on Mordred's thigh. “Go on.”

“Kara's broken up with Elyan.”

“And you want a shot,” Merlin deduced. It could be nothing else. Otherwise Mordred wouldn't have mentioned his band mate at all. Besides when you played together sometimes chemistry happened. “Is that it?”

“I don't want you to think I'm that crass,” said Mordred, eyeing his sandwich. “But I've been wanting to be with her for a while. We could still see each other, you and me, but I'm not sure whether you're into menages-a-trois thing. I mean friends with benefits is one thing, and I know we're free to see other people sexually, but--”

“Mordred.” Merlin held up both hands. “It's fine, really. I wanted to say something similar myself.”

Mordred gently laughed. “That you want to try it with your big crush?”

“Not exactly,” Merlin said. “But something like it.”

Mordred winged an eyebrow. “How like it?”

“Eat your sandwich, you nosy man, you.”

Arthur opened the piano lid. There was no dust and someone had clearly seen to its upkeep, but the moment Arthur sat down to play a few notes he realised it hadn't been tuned in a while. But the keys didn't stick so Arthur found it possible to play. When he was done with his first song, he decided he had time to spare to re-tune the piano.

To begin with he blocked off the outside strings of his starting octave, F below middle-C up to E above middle-C. This done he went hunting for a flat screw driver in the garden shed. It took him half an hour to find it and an accumulation of dust on his hands, but he did chance upon it. Having got what he was looking for he also brought along other tools he could use and made it back to the old house and the music room.

Properly armed with a fine set of tools, he started working on the piano again. He then proceeded to act on the other strings, blocking the outside one of the keys that had a temperament strip. He was tinkering with a flat screwdriver that was a bit rusty to stuff the strip between the strings, when Uther entered.

“Arthur,” he said, loitering in with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, “the housekeeper told me you were here.”

Arthur tensed, screwdriver held tight in his hand. “I wanted to play,” he said, knowing full well that wasn't much of an explanation for his presence here.

Uther walked up to the window. “You don't come here all that often anymore.”

No, Arthur couldn't say he did. For a variety of reasons he didn't anymore. He didn't feel like he could explain them to his father or as though he could tell him the reason why he was here today of all days. “No, but that's the nature of things.”

Uther's chest expanded; he was looking at something outside in the garden when he said, “Because you're older, you mean?”

Arthur picked up the tuning fork and tested the pitch of a tone string. “Yes, I suppose.”

“Yet, you're here now.”

Arthur moved to testing the next string. “Yes,” he said, squinting at his work. “It's still the place where I was born.”

“You spent most of your time in here when you were growing,” said Uther, in a tone Arthur would have judged melancholy if Arthur hadn't known him better than that.

“I've always loved music.” Arthur put felts between strings to make sure only one would sound when he played a note. “You know that.”

“I thought it was more the fact that once you conquered the right to have the room opened up, you didn't want to relinquish it,” Uther said, pulling back the curtain.

“Mother wouldn't have wanted it kept shut, I'm sure.”

Father didn't say anything to that and Arthur worked on in silence, never quite forgetting his father was there but neither having him at the forefront of his mind. Things stayed this way until Uther said, “Is something going on with you?”

Arthur selected a tuning hammer from his array of tools and used it to tighten the pegs. “No, why should it be?”

Uther turned around and shrugged. “Because you don't often come here anymore unless it's to feel closer to your mother.”

“I'm fine tuning,” Arthur corrected him, “not communing with spirits.”

“Whatever you say,” said Uther, making to exit the room. “When you're done there'll be tea.”

Arthur sounded another note, which covered the noise of the door closing in his father's wake.

Merlin paced the anteroom, humming under his breath. Ever since he'd lost interest in the slight stain on the wall he'd been doing this and avoiding the faces of the others sitting with him.

In order not to meet them he went over the piece he was to play today. Gaius had told him to go for the _Death of Tybalt_ , so Merlin was playing it in his head. Its precipitato, presto and adagio rhythms were suitable for showing off and since the piece was less commonly requested at auditions it was also fresher. 

He was going over the bow movements in his head when one of the assistants to the Music Director poked his head out. “Mr Emrys,” he said politely. “Your turn has come.”

Merlin stopped fidgeting, picked up his violin case and said, “I'm coming.”

The next two concerts went really well. The reviews in the paper had made Arthur proud, though what had gladdened him the most was the fact that the audience seemed to have genuinely enjoyed themselves.

You could always tell the difference between an audience pretending to be touched and one that had a great time. And with Merlin soloing for them that happened every time. There were only two downsides to this perfect streak. 

Merlin had only three more concerts to give them and was already looking for some other kind of occupation. And Edwin Muirden was making sure Arthur noticed he was there in the big box every time Merlin played.

Arthur had taken to starting concerts by looking to the box. Every single time he found Muirden seated there. He would be either alone or with a companion, a different girl every time. He'd take up the same position as well, his hands steepled, both indexes tapping his chin. Every time he saw him Arthur went cold.

Nobody else but Gaius had taken stock of Muirden's appearances and he was the only one to approach Arthur about it.

“So,” the old man said as he sank into Arthur's dressing room chair. “What was Muirden doing in the great box?”

Arthur undid his bow tie. “Listening to music, I presume.”

“I concede,” Gaius told him, shuffling in his seat to look for a comfortable position, “that that is what I thought he was doing when I saw him the first time, the second time and even the third time. A musician loves music. But I know for a fact he was supposed to play in Seoul and didn't go.”

“Maybe he doesn't like the country or the food.” Arthur hung his tails and undid his cufflinks. 

"Arthur, will you stop fiddling with your clothing and start being honest with me?”

Arthur put one of the cufflinks down on the mirror table. “I can honestly say I don't know what game he's playing.”

“But you do know more that you're letting on, don't you?” Gaius' no-nonsense tone brooked no hedging.

Arthur sat on top of his dressing room table, his back to the mirror. “I'll just say this: I think it would be better for Merlin if he stayed away from the man.”

“Why?” asked Gaius. “As far as I know Merlin has never met Muirden. There surely can be no animosity between them.”

“Merlin bears no grudges against him,” was all that Arthur allowed himself to say. He didn't want to bring up Edwin's allegations in case Gaius – or anyone else for that matter – believed them.

“But Muirden does?”

Arthur extricated the second cufflink from the fabric of his shirt. “I believe you would do well if you found Merlin a spot in some foreign orchestra or if you tried helping him do some touring. He's had enough exposure here that that might be possible.”

“You think Muirden dislikes him that much?” Gaius asked, paling a little. “I have to confess I wanted Merlin to apply here. I'm an old man and having him close would be a comfort.”

To be honest, Arthur hadn't thought of it that way. When he'd talked to Merlin about his future after this series of concerts he'd been quite open to any choice. He wanted to play for an orchestra whether solo or not. He'd maintained he'd go wherever they wanted him and if they allowed him to record as a soloist all the better, he'd love that too. Going by that conversation he hadn't felt too bad pushing Merlin in the same direction he seemed to want to go. The thought of never seeing him again pained him, and sometimes when Merlin smiled just a little too brightly, or when his skin brushed against his, Arthur had been tempted to make sure things happened between them. He'd been tempted to kiss him and tell him to never go.

But then he told himself that Merlin would have a much better career if no taint from Muirden ever touched him. Which it would happen if it became clear Merlin and Arthur were close. Merlin, sweet Merlin, deserved the best. His eyes lit up when he played and Arthur wanted that to happen for Merlin time and again.

He also told himself that Merlin would have a better time having his friends with benefits relationship with Mordred than trying to make something work with him. Yeah, sometimes Arthur wished the man didn't exist or that Arthur could do something stupid, declarative, like telling Mordred to fuck off because Arthur could love Merlin better. But that was absurd, only a fantasy, and morally wrong. So even though that felt like a stab to the heart, he'd emphatically encouraged Merlin to look for work abroad too. 

When you were in the world of orchestras and classical music you became a migratory bird if you wanted your share of fame and fortune. But acting as he had, he hadn't thought of Gaius at all, an old man who had no family of his own bar Merlin. 

“I didn't know you had,” Arthur said, hanging his head. “Is there a concrete opportunity?”

“Well, yes,” said Gaius in a matter-of-fact tone. “Merlin's made the RPO a lot of money lately, especially considering the fact that the concerts were entirely funded by von Stroheim.”

“I see,” Arthur said, wanting to enquire after the particulars but stopping short when Merlin appeared on the threshold of his dressing room bearing a bouquet of flowers.

His nose was buried in tall daffodils and roses and his eyes were crinkled when he said, “Hi.” 

“Have you become a fan boy, Merlin?” Arthur said. He meant to do it acerbically so as to wean himself off Merlin by pushing him away, but he hadn't sounded quite like that. He sounded more fondly put upon that cross. He'd have to become better at holding Merlin off if he didn't want to be ripe pickings for Muirden.

“No, but these are from a fan of yours I ran into,” Merlin said, sniffing the flowers and promptly sneezing. “I told her the truth that you were a grouch and wouldn't come out.”

Arthur started.

“Joking, joking,” Merlin said. “Somehow she finds you lovely and said these were for you for brightening her grandma's days. The grandma is an even bigger fan.”

“I'm sure I'm glad.”

The lines around Merlin's eyes slowly faded. “Right, I'll leave them with you then.” Merlin crossed the small room to grab a vase. He filled it at the tiny sink in the corner then plonked the flowers in the vase. “There,” he said, propping the object on the narrow coffee table. “At least this way they won't die so soon.”

Arthur felt really horrible about having been so dismissive of Merlin, so he said, “Thanks. Letting them go to waste would have been a pity.”

Gaius snorted but Merlin's lips softened into a smile. “True, they're too pretty for an untimely death.”

“By far,” Arthur agreed.

Merlin jiggled his leg, seeming in half a mind on whether to stay or go. At last he made up his mind midway to the door, stopping to say, “Arthur, I still owe you a dinner, remember, and it's been a great night tonight, so I was wondering if you'd like to go out and grab a bite. To celebrate.”

Arthur quickly ducked his head. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Gaius eye-balling them both. Even though he was sure Gaius was judging him and guessing more than Arthur hoped he would, he said, “Thank you, Merlin, but that's a no. I meant to have an early night in tonight. I'm actually directing in Bath tomorrow evening.”

“Ha, right, yes, sorry,” Merlin said, repairing towards the door. “I didn't know your schedule. I'm sorry.”

Arthur nearly wanted to grab him by the arm and prevent him from going. He'd even thought up a phrase to spit out but found himself saying, “Another time perhaps.”

Merlin was already long out of earshot.

Gaius said, “He just admires you.”

“I know,” said Arthur, his shoulders drooping. He hated conflict. “He's a good man. It's just... complicated.”

For two weeks Merlin concentrated on performing his best and only that, telling himself that maybe, just maybe he'd miscalculated, or botched up everything that wasn't related to music.

These days Arthur was nicer to him than when they'd met. But that didn't seem like a big victory. He was also politer and more distant. He'd even started saying, 'please, Merlin' and 'yes, Merlin, start when you please'.

That wasn't what Merlin had meant to happen when he'd made up his mind about Arthur. He'd meant, simply speaking, to woo him, be nice to him, ask him out. But being cold shouldered on the first try had frozen him.

So two weeks had passed and Merlin hadn't got closer to the goal of seeing if Arthur wanted to perhaps give him a shot after all. This meant that Merlin had one single concert – and the related rehearsal time – left to make an impression on Arthur. After that, he stood no chance. Particularly if he didn't get that spot at the RPO he'd auditioned for the other week. In that case any chance he ever had of maybe making it work with Arthur would be gone.

With that thought in mind he once again knocked on Arthur's dressing room door. “Hey,” he said, leaning against the jamb. “Are you busy?”

Arthur looked up from a blank score he was filling with notes. He worked his pencil in his hand and said, “No, not really. Did you want to tell me something?”

“Just--” Merlin said, then changed his mind. “Is that your own composition? The one Elyan was talking about at the club?”

Arthur tapped his pencil against the desk. “Yeah, it is.”

“I'm glad you're working on it,” Merlin said, hesitating in the doorway.

“I was actually writing the violin parts,” said Arthur, colour suffusing his face. “And I can confess I'm stumped. I mean, after hearing you, I--” He bit at the rubber on top of the pencil. “I realised my vision was a bit limited when it came to the fiddle. I decided I wanted it to stand out more but I'm better at general orchestral pieces than writing solos. Especially if they have nothing to do with the organ.”

Merlin advanced into the room and closed the door behind him. “I could play it for you,” he offered, hoping Arthur wouldn't think he was meddling. So as to pre-empt the formation of that thought, he added, “So you know how it sounds outside your head.”

Holding his pencil upside down, Arthur tapped his score, so the rubber hit the corner of the stave, nearly erasing a carefully traced note. He bit his lip, his brow creased in a multiplicity of lines, and said, “Yes, okay. Why not, it sounds like a good idea.”

Merlin took his violin and bow out of the case and walked over to Arthur and his score. “Which part do you want me to play?”

Arthur flipped the pages and tapped his finger against a section of the score. “This,” he said, showing the music sheet to Merlin. “It's the fiddle sounding a lament mainly. It's... a story of magic and lost love. The fiddle represents the magic that enchants the world and makes love possible.”

“It's a fairy tale,” said Merlin, imagining it as he read the notes. The quieter ones like the whispers of fairy wings and fairy chatter, the bombastic crescendos letting you imagine the magical action. “I like it.”

“It's more like a faery story,” Arthur said, “but I'm glad you do like it.”

“Well,” said Merlin, shouldering his violin. “There's nothing for me to do but try it.”

As he did with all new pieces he hadn't tried before, he played the solo part with great attention, but attempting to focus on something that went beyond mere notation. 

He pursued the spirit of the music, its lightness and charm, its airy vibe. He tried to make it delicate and soft without hiding the gentle teasing humour of the rhythm. He gave it body, and a witty voice. Arthur's composition was musical fairy dust, golden and bright. It ought to be performed as such.

His imagination flying on the wings of Arthur's score, he played the story he saw in his mind. He got involved in it and his feelings gushed through his rendition. He was so enmeshed in the magic of the notes that his heart soared and his eyes teared a bit.

When he was done, he was so moved he thought it'd take him a few solid minutes to recover and ground himself into reality once more. He just hoped Arthur didn't mind and that he had liked his execution of something that was, after all, very personal.

“You just,” Arthur said, rounding the table to get to him, “played it the way I thought it was in my head. And made it better.”

Merlin put violin and bow on the table. “I didn't make it better. It was fantastic as it was.”

Arthur had come up to him and tilted his head. “Fantastic?” he asked. “Nah, it wasn't. I'm a so-so composer, chasing the magic.” He stepped even closer to Merlin so that Merlin could make out how blue his eyes were and how clear and... sparkling. They were filled with a kind of emotion Merlin had never seen in them before. “Arthur--”

“You read my mind,” Arthur said on a breath, releasing it as he would a thought he'd kept to himself for the longest time. “But it's you who made a difference between an assembly of notes and melody. You're the magic.”

Merlin ruffled his own hair and laughed, wishing Arthur wasn't as complimentary as all this because it was really difficult not falling for his charm when he was being nice. “I--”

Arthur put a hand on Merlin's shoulder and reeled Merlin in until they stood chest to chest, eyes, locked. His lips grazed Merlin's.

Merlin discharged a stuttered breath. “Arthur?” he murmured.

With glazed eyes, Arthur said, “I’m afraid I don't know what I'm doing but I'm loving it, so I'd rather go on if you agree.” His voice had an imperceptibly throaty quality to it. 

“I'm not disliking it,” Merlin said, sounding just as wrecked. “In fact, I'd like a repeat performance.”

Arthur trailed a finger along the length of Merlin's jaw. “Right,” he said, “so I take it you wouldn't take it amiss if I did this?” Arthur touched his lips to his, with a feather-light pressure that gradually built, parting Merlin's lips with a flick of his tongue. 

At that, Merlin's breath rattled through his open mouth.

Before plunging his tongue shallowly in, Arthur ran it along the seam of Merlin's lips. Past this defence their tongues met, the tips pushing at each other until they tangled more fully. As Arthur placed his arms against Merlin's torso and shoulders, sliding them downwards along his back, the kiss continued. 

It went on through the blush rising across Merlin's cheeks and the tightening of his guts. It subsisted, slow and wet and deep, until Arthur drew back to touch his lips to the lobe of Merlin's ear, to the underside of his jaw, to his neck, his hands roaming across Merlin's back as they sought the bare skin underneath.

Naturally, Merlin did his own touching, groping Arthur's back, his sides, his buttocks, doing it so blindly because he had his head tipped and couldn't see much beyond a vision of white ceiling. Yet the position was allowing Arthur to suck on his neck, to tenderly brush his lips across it, even as he raised love bites with his teeth.

With Arthur's lips at the base of his throat, it was as if his body wanted to melt right into Arthur's. At each touch of Arthur's lips on his neck, Merlin felt shivers running through his body and into Arthur. Turned on by Arthur's excitation more than his own, he moved, sliding his hands down Arthur's torso, until one of them brushed against Arthur's cock.

His own rose at the feel of the erection tenting Arthur's trousers.

“If you want this to go on I think we should lock the door and get on the sofa,” Arthur said, his pupils wide and his eyes dark with lust.

Merlin threw a look behind his shoulders. The door was closed but Arthur's office was a port of call for many of the orchestra members.

“That is,” Arthur added when Merlin hesitated over the logistics of the situation, “if you would like to continue. I know that I may be seen as your boss in a way and—”

Merlin shut Arthur up with a kiss. “Close the door,” he said against the plumpness of Arthur's lips. “I think I'll sprawl on that sofa of yours. Hope it doesn't creak.”

Arthur bounded over to the door and locked it from the inside, making so much noise Merlin's heart skipped a beat. 

Merlin sat himself on the sofa while his guts clenched and unclenched for the nerves, the expectation making his heart clench. In a bid to look easy and relaxed, he stretched along the length of the sofa and waited for Arthur to move over to him. 

When Arthur reached the sofa and saw him, he wetted his lips, eyes growing bigger still, the spark in there thrilling Merlin down to the marrow.

“So,” Merlin said, “are we--”

“Yes, we are.”

Without further ado, Arthur straddled him. “May I take off your shirt?” he asked, voice gruff and wrecked already, wording as polite as you please.

That took the edge off Merlin's nervousness and shyness. His alarm at thinking they might be caught red handed dwindled to nothing. He was a little bit scared that he wouldn't live up to the expectations Arthur might be having of him, but that was all. “Sure,” Merlin said, “I'd been waiting for you to ask.”

He had next to no doubt as to how he hoped the evening would end now. 

Arthur's hands ghosted along his front before he found the hem of Merlin's long sleeved tee. As those hands moved down him, Merlin breathed, his chest rising under Arthur's touch. His body bucked. Arthur lifted his shirt over Merlin's head. 

Merlin had to remember to breathe as he lay there with Arthur on top of him, his eyes glued to Merlin's bare skin, his palms making contact with Merlin’s bare chest and belly, travelling up his arms. 

“Arthur--” Merlin said, his chest tight. The delivery didn't come out well though because of the lump to his throat he couldn't quite swallow around.

“Beautiful,” Arthur whispered as he bent over to kiss Merlin once more. It was much smoother than the first. Arthur opened his mouth from the get go, his tongue running along the inner edge of Merlin's lips, tasting the wet flesh.

Merlin kissed back, his hands at Arthur's nape, kneading, his tongue plunging deep in Arthur's mouth, kissing and kissing until he was rutting his body against Arthur's.

One of Arthur's hands palmed his neck; the other grazed the length of Merlin's arm with the pads of gentle fingers. He licked into Merlin's mouth, rubbed his lips against it, pressing his body down as Merlin surged towards him.

Leaving Merlin's lips tingling and raw in his wake, Arthur moved to kiss his chin, the column of Merlin's throat, the side of his jaw.

The feel of Arthur's lips on Merlin's neck made Merlin's bones feel as though they'd become liquid. His muscles tightened. His breathing quickened and his cock got heavier, pulsing with blood. 

Arthur's kisses were open wet and soft, his nips sharp and electrifying, his sucking making Merlin's eyes roll back in their sockets. Merlin's panting was raspy and lewd but was thankfully matched by Arthur's own. 

In a swipe that caused tremors to shake Merlin, Arthur's mouth brushed downwards. With single minded determination, he licked the sweat that had pooled at the hollow of Merlin's throat. It was so good and slow and tortuous, Merlin moaned. 

It was even better, ten thousand times more perfect, when Arthur trailed his tongue over his nipples. The touch lit a spark in Merlin's spine. It took his breath. Wanting more of it, needing to chase it, Merlin helplessly thrust his chest forward. 

Arthur put smacking kisses to his ribs and belly.

Merlin just shuddered. 

So caressed, Merlin's body ached. He looked forward to nothing more than having Arthur and having him naked. He was so out of it, body feeling both lax and tense, he pushed Arthur's head down to orientate his efforts. 

At first Arthur fought him, twisting free of Merlin's grasp. He kissed Merlin's belly taut. His tongue swirled inside and out of Merlin's navel, tickling him, exciting him, but not getting where Merlin wanted his mouth to be. Then he nipped at the thin layer of skin at his hips. But he wouldn't touch his cock.

And the more Merlin arched his back, the more he fought for their cocks to collide, the more Arthur acted contrary. 

Oh, yes, he slammed his hips into Merlin, causing Merlin to release little spurts of pre-come that only stained his trousers and made him wilder, but he wasn't touching Merlin where he ached. And Merlin was by now dreaming of a wet, tight mouth closing around him. “Come on, Arthur,” Merlin said brokenly.

Arthur pinned him down with a hand on his hips. Merlin sighed, thinking, _this is it_. But Arthur's mouth slid upwards again, following a line of Arthur's own devising that had him muzzling Merlin's chest.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, a trace of whining entitlement coming through. 

Mucking about was lovely and Arthur was devilish at it, but Merlin wanted the satisfaction of having his cock catered to. He had been worked into a fine frenzy. His body had gone taut, his pulse had quickened till it was all he could hear and his cock was throbbing. Not just aching for friction or touch, but from the desire to rut his hips, and rub them against anything that would provide enough contact until he was spilling and spilling and spilling. Yet he was only jerking and twitching minutely in his trousers and in a way that positively hurt by now. “Arthur--”

“Merlin--” Arthur said, opening his mouth around Merlin's lips. They kissed, brief but hungry, then Arthur moved his body lower. 

“Merlin--” Arthur said again before he took to mumbling incoherent nothings. His murmured endearments were all breathed out hot and gusty around Merlin's left nipple. They were confused ramblings that made no sense – even less so when he started suckling as though he was giving head and Merlin shed any trace of cognitive ability – but they sounded vaguely sweet and made Merlin's heart crack.

Back and forth, back and forth, Arthur's tongue went, his tongue sliding across the peak of each nub, before he nibbled it lightly. 

A hand on Arthur's sweaty back, Merlin turned his head to the side, his chest filling. “Arthur.”

Arthur stopped in his maddening attentions. “Yeah?”

“Please, come on, make me come.”

“You want to come?” Arthur asked, tilting his head as if the concept was novel.

“Yeah,” Merlin said, his hand travelling down Arthur's damp back to palm his arse. “That's the idea.”

Merlin's below-the-belt move worked perfectly.

Arthur's body tensed as if it was the rope in a tug of war game. His muscles, down to his buttocks, clenched, and his eyes darkened.

“Yeah, I-- I--” Arthur didn't say what it was he was wanted. He licked the tiny specks of wetness gathered at the corners of Merlin's mouth and took him for a spin of a kiss that was harsh and passionate.

As the kiss went on, Arthur tugged on one end of Merlin's belt, wrestling it free of the trouser loops. Blindly, Arthur dropped it on the floor, Merlin wiggling as Arthur's fingers found the top button of his trousers and undid it. 

The warmth of Arthur's palm as it brushed against his prick had Merlin mewling in Arthur's mouth, biting his lower lip, wetting it with his tongue to soothe the hurt. His hips snapped upwards.

“Easy,” Arthur said as his hand closed around the fever hot skin of Merlin's cock.

“Easy?” Merlin surged at the touch, his whole body following the thrust of his hips against the heat of Arthur's hand. “Like hell.”

“That's hot,” said Arthur. “Do that again.” He met Merlin’s eyes. Before Merlin could say anything more, Arthur brushed his lips over Merlin's cheek, then he breathed in deeply and moved down his body.

When he'd reached Merlin's groin, he pulled down Merlin's boxers, low enough that Merlin's cock sprang free. It was red and felt so heavy lying where it was, stiff on his belly.

“God,” Arthur said, breathing Merlin in as though the smell of his pre-come wasn't just musky but pleasing. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while, you know.” 

“Then why didn't you?” Merlin asked, breath quickening.

Arthur didn't answer. His mouth edged around the base of Merlin's cock. 

Merlin hissed and Arthur licked a long stripe from there to the tip and closed his lips around the head of his cock. 

“Fuck!” Merlin shouted, biting his fist the moment he remembered they were still at Cadogan Hall and that anyone passing by might hear him. “Fuck.”

Without any ceremony Arthur sucked and licked, drew the pre-come from Merlin's slit with his tongue and took to laving the tracery of ridges, vein, and skin wrinkles he found. 

“Yeah,” Merlin found himself saying, without his brain actually having caught up with his vocal cords. “Make it wet. Go deep, please.”

Arthur hummed and the vibration made Merlin sweat and fuck into Arthur's mouth, stretched as it was around him. Arthur slid him into his mouth more fully. 

In response Merlin thrashed his head and bent his legs around Arthur's head, digging his heels against the armrest. While Arthur's mouth cruised up and down Merlin's cock, Merlin arched off the sofa.

He rocked back and forth, thrust harder to urge Arthur's movements on. Arthur complied with a hard pull of his mouth, bobbed his head, when Merlin wasn't thrusting, and gave him his all.

Merlin panted fast, his breaths rocking out of him. He grabbed Arthur's hair, muttering low, “Arthur, Arthur, I think I'm-- Arthur.”

Mid-work Arthur flicked him a look, but he didn't stop, he hummed around Merlin's cock as he held him in his mouth and down his throat. He squeezed him with his lips and with the hand he had wrapped at the root of him.

And that was it; Merlin climbed the steady wave of pleasure Arthur was giving him, warmth seeping to the core of him, until he reached the pinnacle and the climbing turned into a liquid sensation that saw his come flooding Arthur's mouth.

When Merlin was done, grunting, sobbing, his muscles unlocking, Arthur licked his softening cock clean, laying it back onto the sweaty skin of Merlin's inner thigh.

“I should have done that when I saw you first,” Arthur said, the sides of his mouth edging upwards, as he moved over Merlin's body to nuzzle his neck. “I'm sure you would have protested less about tails and concert fashion if I had.”

Merlin didn't feel coherent enough for a comeback, so he decided to make Arthur as inarticulate as him. With all the limb coordination he could manage, he worked the zip of Arthur's trousers open and took his prick out of his underwear.

Arthur hissed.

“See what it feels like?” Merlin said, pulling his length upwards and squeezing the sides of Arthur's cock. “See whether you can be glib when someone has their hands down your pants.” He began making long strokes, his hands around Arthur's length, rubbing and fisting it till it throbbed and became hotter in his palms.

Braced on his arms, his knees giving him leverage, Arthur pushed into his hands, his breath released a hair's breadth from Merlin's ear. It came in rhythmical puffs as he fucked into Merlin's hands. “I can --” Arthur stammered and bit on Merlin's earlobe – “Can quip with the best of them.”

“You sound a bit short of breath,” Merlin said, his grip steadying as he increased his tempo.

When he twisted his hand, the muscles of Arthur's upper thighs and abdomen squirmed. 

“Like it like this, don't you?” Merlin asked, now knowingly teasing. “Me touching you... Driving you crazy with my hands on your cock?” 

To put an edge to his words, he dragged his teeth along Arthur's jaw, causing Arthur to mutter and sob in his ear. 

Merlin liked the sounds Arthur made, the way he shifted back and forwards on his knees on top of Merlin, the way Merlin could feel the heat radiating from Arthur's face. 

Wanting to finish Arthur, Merlin did what he liked most when done on himself. He slipped his other hand between them and found and cupped Arthur's balls, moved them around in his palm and stroked his fingers over them.

At the last pass of his fingers, Arthur's hips stopped jerking forwards, he sighed, and Merlin felt his body tense above his. Soon Merlin's hand was wet and dribbling with come.

Lids heavy, Arthur looked at him and smiled, placing a wet kiss on his cheek before slumping on top of him. “Humph,” was a fair translation of what he'd said.

Merlin chuckled, wrapping his arm around Arthur's waist. “I suppose you have hankies,” he said, “to clean up. Or I'll clean my hand on your shirt and that's that.”

Arthur's ribcage shook with his laughter, making him feel heavier. “Who calls them hankies anyway?”

“I do,” Merlin said, nudging Arthur's middle with his knee. “Now move.”

“You're assuming I have the power to.”

Merlin laughed at the ceiling, Arthur's wet lips colliding with the side of his neck. “So I did wreck you?”

Arthur nuzzled Merlin's neck, causing warmth to bloom in Merlin's body. “Only a little.”

“If that's only a little, then you have skewed notions of little. Still, you'll have to move and find me a tissue or something,” Merlin said, his splayed palm running up and down the length of Arthur's back under his sweat-soaked shirt. “Or I'll clean myself on you.”

Arthur propped himself up. “Can't walk around with come stains all over me. If this was at mine... “ Arthur sighed, body tensing. “We don't want the others to know.”

Merlin felt a chill run down his spine. “You think--”

Arthur's face became severe. “That it's a bad idea for your career and my career if they knew? Yeah.”

“Because they'd think--”

Arthur's jaw locked. “That I gave you the spot because you paid me in nature, so to speak? Traded sex for a job?”

“But it's not you who got me the spot,” said Merlin, clearly recalling how things had gone. “The others in the orchestra know that it was the board and Taliesin who did.”

Arthur gazed away from him. He sat back without shifting from Merlin's lap, resting his weight on his haunches. A hand messed his hair. “It's not the orchestra folk I'm worried about,” he said, his lower lip disappearing under his upper one. “But concert goers, the public, the rags. You got the spot because Taliesin liked your performance. But his hard on for gifted fiddlers isn't only metaphorical.”

Merlin remembered Morgana's party and Taliesin's attentions. Thinking back, he now saw why Taliesin had been so forward. He'd expected reciprocation because he was used to it. Merlin wasn't the only one the old fox had wanted. “So you believe that--”

“That they'll think my sleeping with you lends credibility to the theory you got your job through him,” Arthur said, his brow pinched. “You didn't. Neither because of me nor because of him. But on your own merit, charming your audience that first time. You don't want to start your career shaded by rumours that are totally unfounded.”

Merlin wanted to hug himself but with one of his hands dirty he couldn't. So he let go of Arthur and wrapped his left arm round his middle while his right dangled off the sofa. “No, I don't think I do.”

“Hey--” Arthur cupped his cheek. “It isn't going to be forever.”

Merlin's eyes were on Arthur's chin more than reciprocating Arthur's gaze. “Yeah.”

Arthur kissed him, taking his upper lip between his. The brush of skin was gentle and soft. “I mean it. I don't want to hide you. This is temporary and precautionary.”

“But you're going to--” Merlin said, meeting Arthur's eyes. 

“I promise, our silence is only going to last for a while.”

“How long?” Merlin asked, not sure he could believe Arthur. He had nothing against keeping a relationship private. Hell, sometimes he blushed when people – mainly Elena – poked their noses in his sex life. And as long as this was about not telling the world while enjoying themselves he was fine with it. He could see the career angle. He just hoped Arthur wasn't saying that because he was ashamed of having had sex with Merlin – or just Merlin in general.

He could already feel humiliation creep up on him, unwarranted as it was. Yet, he couldn't keep it at bay; he needed to know for sure where he stood with Arthur.

“Till your rota here is ended,” said Arthur, kissing him once more – lighter this time. “You can then apply here and once you've got the job on your own merits we can tell everyone.”

“I've already auditioned,” Merlin said. “I'm waiting for them to decide whether they're hiring me or not.”

“Gaius mentioned that you wanted to try it but I didn't know if you had.”

“I have.”

Then,” Arthur said, lowering himself again and nuzzling his cheek and nose against Merlin's skin, “we'll wait to hear what's up with that.”

“Okay,” Merlin said, Arthur's nose tickling him into laughter so that his dark thoughts took a back seat. “Okay, just as long as it's not me you're ashamed of.”

Arthur's grip on him became fiercer. “No, I'm not ashamed of you.”

“Then,” Merlin said, pushing off the sofa to kiss Arthur, “I'm more than okay keeping our secret.”

Arthur stopped the car; everything around them was banks of fog.

Merlin squinted at the passenger seat window, really made an effort to make out any shape among the sea of milky white that rode the air, failed and said, “Um, why did we stop? We're in the middle of nowhere.”

Arthur chuckled at the wheel. He brushed the windscreen with the palm of his hand and when that didn't yield a better view he said, “Well, the gate should be right there, even if you can't see it, and I didn't want to drive right into it.”

“Gate? Gate? What gate?” Merlin said, goggling at the road ahead. He didn't understand how the fog could have disappeared some gates. “You're for real?”

Arthur nodded his head. “Yep. I should remember. That's my mother's ancestral home right there.”

Merlin guffawed till he was holding his belly. “Fucking Scotland. Fog ate up a fancy manor house.”

Arthur's elbow-jabbed him, or tried to, because the distance between the seats made it hard. “First,” he said, “just because you can't see it doesn't mean it's not there.”

“Yeah, it's an article of faith this house of yours.”

“Second, try and sound a bit more grateful about having been invited here to unwind between concerts.”

Merlin hummed, uncertain. When Arthur had spoken about spending a few days with him in his mum's old home up in the Highlands, Merlin had agreed. He loved London, he did, but sometimes even he got fed up with it.

Besides he'd figured this trip would allow for a romp away from the big city. He'd see busy, thriving nature, he'd thought. And since the house belonged wholly to Arthur – not his father – and was far away from prying eyes Merlin had believed this holiday would be conducive to lots of sex. 

Merlin loved sex with Arthur, and having Arthur to himself, so accepting the invitation had been the easiest thing in the world for him to do.

But now he feared there'd be no sex because the house – if it was there – would be so cold and damp any boner would die the moment they took their clothes off. Not a sexy thought, that one. Perhaps, he sighed to himself, they'd still get all the intimacy a few days' stay could give them. That was something to look forward to. Him and Arthur. No public to lie to. “I'm not complaining.”

Arthur scoffed.

“I just pictured it a tad differently,” Merlin said, hoping there'd be hot water and functioning plumbing.

“Wait and see,” Arthur said, opening the car door and walking into the fog. 

Merlin heard the creaking of rusty massive hinges and then the fog spat Arthur out again. 

“Crikey, it's like a horror film.”

Arthur chuckled amiably as he eased into first gear and past the gate. “Sorry, can't offer that kind of thrill.”

“I hope you can offer others,” said Merlin, laughing at his own stupid joke, as they drove up the drive.

The house – because indeed there was a house hidden in the mist – was as cold as Merlin had imagined it to be and just as sprawling. The fact that Arthur's mansion was so big made insulation from the cold a bit more difficult to achieve than in your average – and modern – flat. Cold draughts seeped in from under the windows and doors, and keeping the heat contained to a room or two wasn't so easy as it might have seemed. At most they managed to keep one or two rooms warm at a time.

When the radiators betrayed them, Arthur decided to use the fireplace in the big lounge downstairs to heat the place up. Maybe warmth would travel and then they'd get the first floor to be all warm by the time they were done with the contraption.

Being a city boy, Arthur was at a bit of a loss to get the fireplace going, though. When he checked the chimney stack for debris or bird nests he got showered in soot. (The only positive was Merlin being treated to a fine view of Arthur's perky arse as he bent over.) And when he started cleaning the thing, he got sneezing. 

Since these weren't auspicious beginnings and he couldn't feel his toes anymore, Merlin offered to help him. “Really, how difficult can it be?”

But Merlin was treated to Arthur saying, “No way. You're my guest and I'm perfectly able to get this fireplace going.”

Arthur struggled with a duster, fought under the weight of an old screen and prepared the kindling all by himself even though it was clear that he didn't have much practice doing this and that Merlin would have helped.

Still, one rebuttal was enough and after it Merlin quite enjoyed watching Arthur struggle with wood logs and wads of paper. Especially since in the end it was Merlin's rearranging of the log and application of a well placed match that did the trick. “The fall of the mighty,” Merlin said, proud of his achievement.

Arthur's pout was so cute Merlin definitely had to kiss it. 

“I could have done it,” he said.

“I'm sure,” Merlin answered, inviting Arthur under the pile of plaids he'd strewn before the fireplace in the hopes they would get it to work, “but I was feeling cold and I thought to myself, the sooner the better.”

Arthur's pout didn't dissolve. “But I wanted to make you comfortable.”

“I am comfortable,” said Merlin, taking Arthur's lips for a slow kiss.

“I--”

Merlin sealed his lips around Arthur's and slipped his fingers in Arthur’s hair, massaging his skull. 

Their kiss went from shallow to deep and wet and took Merlin's breath away in a matter of seconds. 

With Arthur kissing was, as clichéd as it may sound, more than just that. It was as though more was going on than some simple snogging. Or perhaps Merlin's body responded to Arthur's kisses as though he was actually on the brink of full body touching. Maybe things got that way because Arthur seemed to love kissing and to have made an art of it.

When he wasn't using it complain, Arthur had quite a mouth on him. It knew how to gently touch Merlin's.

As for now his tongue danced around Merlin's, snake-like and wet, teasing, flirting. It made his spine curl with want. 

It was Merlin who reached for Arthur's shirt and saw to it that its buttons were opened, needing to touch skin. He explored as much of Arthur's chest as he could before pushing the shirt off Arthur's wide shoulders. 

As Merlin touched him Arthur hissed in pleasure. Arthur's eager reaction made Merlin want him even more.

Wanting to maintain the contact between them, Merlin carded his fingers through Arthur's chest hair, swept his hands down his shoulders. He made his exploration as sensual as he could, trailing his fingers along the length of Arthur's collarbones, sliding his palms down his back, and grazing the line of his spine with his fingertips.

“Love your hands,” Arthur murmured appreciatively as Merlin traced a path that went from Arthur’s shoulders to his neck. 

Merlin followed this trail downward, pausing at a spot just above Arthur’s heart. “It's beating so fast.”

Arthur smiled. “Well, it's all you,” he rasped. 

Merlin pushed Arthur down and straddled him. As Arthur's hands went to his hips, Merlin leant down and kissed Arthur, his tongue shallowly licking into Arthur's mouth, meeting the motions of Arthur's, until Arthur's breath hitched and his hands started getting frantic at Merlin's waist, rolling up Merlin's shirt in their haste to touch.

Understanding, Merlin ended the kiss and stilled, drew back a little.

Arthur yanked Merlin's shirt up and past his head and then smiled up at him, his hands working their way up and down Merlin's chest. It felt as though they were everywhere, taking stock of Merlin, both soothing him and working him into a state of arousal. 

Arthur's touch almost melted his spine, got Merlin breathing harder.

With Arthur breathing equally hard and Merlin trying to match him gasp for gasp, their torsos pushed together as did their lower bodies after each stutter of their hips. For a second there Merlin forgot to breathe entirely. 

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed against Arthur's mouth. “Arthur.” Nearly swept under the rush of pleasure Merlin stopped grinding his hips against Arthur's so as to prolong the moment.

Instead he went down on Arthur's body, pressing his open mouth against his skin, from pectorals to abdomen. He licked at the salty skin, tracing the stretches of muscle, the taut flesh that covered his bones, the softer areas between sinews. And as his mouth worked, kissing and lapping, breathing on ripples of skin that would flutter at the touch, he slipped his hands a little further down to work at Arthur's zip, relishing the way Arthur shuddered, smacked his lips audibly together and said, “Merlin.”

Merlin chuckled but he understood Arthur's need. He felt it too. Merlin outlined Arthur's cock with his lips, dampening the cloth at his crotch, making Arthur roll his hips. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked coyly.

Arthur threaded his fingers through his hair, not controlling but certainly suggestive. “Maybe I wanted something more,” Arthur said.

Merlin grinned and pulled Arthur's zip down with his teeth. As Merlin let up, Arthur cursed. But Merlin knew they needed to move to speed things up. His knees like jelly, Merlin heaved himself up and did away with socks, trousers and shoes. 

Arthur shimmied out of his own trousers till he was lying bare on the blanket Merlin had put there for them. 

In the light from the fireplace his skin glowed with warmth, appearing even more inviting than usual. And that was saying something considering that Merlin had loved every bit of Arthur he'd ever seen. “You're amazing,” he said.

Arthur neither smirked nor teased, which Merlin had expected to happen. It usually would when Merlin said something that was flattering. But not this time. This time he growled.

“Come here,” he said, and Merlin went.

He laid himself on top of Arthur, pressing the whole length of himself against Arthur's nakedness, feeling every inch of skin he craved. He slipped his fingers through Arthur's hair and kissed him again, rocking against him, sweat-soaked body pressed against sweat-soaked body, their cocks curling on their bellies and grazing each other, leaking and leaving glistening trails.

With fingertips, hands, mouths, and tongues they explored each other's bodies. Merlin suckled on Arthur's cock and balls, fed Arthur his. Hands locked together, Arthur holding his and looking at Merlin fondly and, Merlin dared to think, with love. They rolled and gasped, tumbled each other in a fight to get on top, Arthur's thumbs pressing against Merlin's spine, his legs twined around him. Their sighs and hitched breaths were the counterpoint to the sound of the fire crackling in the fireplace. 

During their rough and tumble games, Merlin landed on top.

“You're the hottest thing I can imagine,” Arthur said. 

Merlin pushed his cock against Arthur's. “Am I?” he asked, not so much for confirmation but because he liked yanking Arthur's chain. Taking both in hand, he added, “Should I stop?”

“You better not,” Arthur said, throwing his head back. Merlin latched onto his throat and stripped their cocks hard and fast, coating the respective heads with the pre-come they spilled, the head of Arthur's prick twitching like vibrato notes under the pressure of Merlin's thumb. The scent that filled Merlin's nostrils drove him just a little bit mad.

When Arthur's eyes shimmered with lust, Merlin couldn't stop himself. Though he wasn't all that strong, and though he could have got off faster if he hadn't stopped stripping their cocks, he turned Arthur on his belly. 

Merlin mounted him, all instinct and little else, and when Arthur didn't buck him off but rather released a heartfelt 'Fuck', Merlin pressed his prick between Arthur's arse cheeks and rutted against his crease, hips jerking quick and then faster still. 

“God, Arthur,” Merlin said, pushing his cock hard between Arthur's powerful and sweaty thighs as he came closer to climax. 

A rush of adrenalin made his head light. Everything span out of his control. Liquid heat spread in his insides. His body took over, the dam broke and he came.

Merlin's come smeared the cleft of Arthur's arse, but even as he kept spurting ever decreasing jets of semen, Merlin continued to rub himself against Arthur's hole, until his prick got caught at the edge of Arthur's arsehole and everything ached so dully Merlin had to stop, the friction too much to bear without a wince.

His breath came fast and broken. Too sensitive for more, Merlin helped Arthur back on his back, only to find out that Arthur was cupping his cock, giving the tip a squeeze as if he was fighting not to come. 

“Here,” Merlin said, climbing Arthur again. “Let me,” he added, nipping gently at the inside of Arthur's thighs, muscles cording with each foray of Merlin's wet mouth. Using his teeth and his tongue or a rub of his lips when he felt Arthur’s body rise to meet his lips, he mapped Arthur's flesh. 

Quivering, rippling skin waiting only for Merlin's touch responded to his attentions, Arthur's sighs forming a rhythm of their own, his skin flushing more and more with an effusion of blood. Merlin saw the tiny marks his teeth and lips were leaving. They blossomed and faded. With an odd degree of awe, he swept his thumbs over the skin he was making redder and redder. 

“Merlin, fuck, Merlin, do something,” Arthur said. 

So Merlin reached between Arthur's legs to cup his balls and roll them in his hand – a move he'd learnt got to Arthur fast. Arthur's mild curses turned to a series of wheezed profanities. 

Egged on, Merlin got a little bit more daring by way of licking Arthur's sac and spreading his arse cheeks apart. The curses gave way to wet sounds that were words no more, to Arthur biting his fist and to his thrashing body. 

The bucking and rolling of his hips only got wilder when Merlin traced a finger over Arthur's opening but it only got truly messy, with Arthur's whole body straining like mad, the moment Merlin licked a stripe right across it. 

With Arthur panting and thrashing, Merlin took just a moment to draw back enough to take note of his handiwork, to notice the fluttering empty grip of Arthur's arse muscles or the shine of his own spit around the edges of his rosy skin. He didn't linger much longer in his evaluation because Arthur said, “Go on, tongue me, what are you-- wh--”

Even though he was spent, Merlin felt his body thrum, his senses reel. There was nothing, nothing, that compared to Arthur like this.

Merlin went back to work, running his tongue in circles around Arthur's hole, sucking on its raised edges, waiting out Arthur's rocking, before he tipped his tongue in, wetting delicate, tangy skin.

“Holy mother fuck!” Arthur shouted, pressing down on him and grabbing fistfuls of the blanket he was lying on. “Christ-- I-- God, I--”

Merlin chuckled against Arthur's skin, penetrating Arthur with his tongue long and hard, with the flat of it or only with the tip, going as deep as he could. Alternately he just dipped it in shallowly, over and over again, till Arthur was a mess of spit, wholly drenched in it.

When Merlin looked up Arthur was covering his cock with his hand in a protective way, giving it the occasional pull. Perhaps Merlin would have to do something about it.

Batting Arthur's hands away to be free to mouth at his cock, he kept only the tip in his mouth as he gave it a few sharp sucks.

Arthur thrust at the same time Merlin lowered his head further. He did it again and again, arching off the floor, riding Merlin's mouth when Merlin wasn't trying to bob his head. When Merlin swallowed against Arthur's cock, Arthur covered his eyes, lifted his hips away from the blanket, shouted something unintelligible and made Merlin taste him, tangy and sharp.

Merlin stroked him with his lips and tongue until he calmed. 

When they were finished, Merlin crawled up next to Arthur, allowing himself the luxury of circling an arm round Arthur's chest, caressing it desultorily with the calm that came with drowsiness.

Arthur intercepted his hand but not in order to bat it off. He ran his fingers all over the back of it from wrist to knuckles. “I like it here.”

“Because it's your mum's place?” Merlin guessed, humming softly under his breath as his body quietened. 

“No,” Arthur said, his caressing motions not ceasing. “Because we can do what we want here. Be noisy, run around naked.”

“You want to run around naked?” Merlin asked. “As a life goal?”

“You know that's not the point.”

Merlin levered himself off his elbows to put a kiss to Arthur's chest. “The point is that you don't want people to know about us yet and that's fine.”

“I want to tell everyone, though,” said Arthur, his fingers combing through Merlin's hair. “But I think we should wait for your callback. Have you heard anything from the board?”

“No,” Merlin said. He had tried not to think about whether he'd got the job at the RPO or not. He thought his audition had gone rather well. He'd received compliments. But those who auditioned for second violin were all excellent fiddlers. There was no telling how many of them had been praised too and what kind of competition he had. So he preferred not to worry about it too much, in case the disappointment was too big. “Haven't heard from them at all. And if I don't I'll have to fall back on my plan B.”

“I think the Music Director likes you,” Arthur told him, turning on his side and wrapping the whole of himself around Merlin. “I think you stand a pretty fair chance.”

“If the board doesn't go for someone else, you mean.” Merlin was pretty sure that even music was business these days. Maybe there was someone more famous they wanted to engage. “Because in that case, it's very much up in the air.”

“It shouldn't be,” said Arthur, his hand making forays down Merlin's back. “You're really a great fiddler.”

“With all the virtuosos you've conducted,” Merlin said, smiling against Arthur's chin before nipping at his skin, “you're only saying that because it's me you're having a roll in the hay with.”

“I see no hay,” Arthur dead-panned, making Merlin snort. “But honestly... Yes, I've directed great violinists. Some of them have truly magnificent technique.” Arthur ducked his head, tucking it to the side of Merlin's. “But you're like my mother. You play with this.” Arthur scooted back and his hand slid between them. It covered Merlin's heart. “That's why you're like her.”

Arthur's face was hot to the touch when Merlin kissed him. And it stayed so a while even though they didn't talk. They settled in each other's arms, trading lazy kisses that died down the drowsier they got until, at length, Merlin remembered nothing but waking with a crick in the neck the next morning.

There was nothing much in the kitchen that could be used for ordinary consumption. While a cleaning lady took care of the mansion when Arthur wasn't there and a grounds-keeper kept trespassers away, Arthur had let go most of the staff at his mother's house. This meant that there was no cook nor housekeeper and this in turn meant that there were no groceries nor a way to cook them.

Arthur didn't have a cooking bone in his body and as it turned out the only thing Merlin could prepare without fail was toast. The second day in of their Scottish trip Arthur was tired of toast. (Or breakfast cereal for that matter, which was Merlin's idea of a possible dinner.) 

“What, it's healthy,” he said, shaking the box. “And full.”

“That's it,” Arthur said, glaring balefully at the box, “we're taking the car into the village.”

“What,” Merlin said, “just now that we managed to make this old pile warm enough?”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, forcing Merlin to put down the box of cereal. “We're going outside. We're going to drive to the village and have a good, old fashioned pub meal.”

“I thought you wanted to keep us secret?” said Merlin, following Arthur out of the big kitchen and in his quest for the car keys.

“I trust the locals,” said Arthur, finding his keys in the hall. “They're a loyal bunch.”

With his brow and nose all wrinkled, Merlin didn't look too eager to brave the great outdoors.

“I have two words, Merlin,” Arthur said, holding up two fingers. “Venison stew.”

Merlin made a sign of the cross by placing a finger perpendicularly against the other, as if to ward off a vampire. “That's Bambi stew you're trying to entice me with.”

Arthur had to chuckle. Only Merlin would bring up Bambi in the circumstances. Having had lots of rompy sex and having had little in the way of food they were both famished, yet here Merlin was, being all fluffy animals friendly. “We'll order fish,” he said. “You don't find fish endearing, do you?”

“If you say it like that it sounds like I'm selectively sensitive,” said Merlin. “I'm not sure that's nice.”

“Come on,” Arthur said, grabbing Merlin by his middle and kissing his neck. That got him more pliant and less likely to take up causes. “Let's go to the pub. We'll discuss the relative loveability of the different species of animals that can go into our meal at the pub, or you can turn veggie.”

“I'd miss meat.”

The closest pub was in Lairg so Arthur drove there. The landlady of the Crask Inn recognised him from the last time Arthur had been there a few months ago.

“The du Bois lad,” she called him, ignoring the fact Arthur was no longer a lad and that his name wasn't, strictly speaking, du Bois. “Glad to see you again and with company.”

“This is my boyfriend,” Arthur said, without the hesitation he'd thought would come considering his and Merlin's situation, and with a certain relish that made him almost want to say it again. They were safe enough here in a place full of people his mother had respected. “Merlin.”

“Oh, it's such a pleasure to meet such a cute lad,” she said, shaking Merlin's hand. “Very handsome.”

Merlin perked up, eyes brightening, “She called me handsome,” he said in Arthur's ear.

“Come,” Mary said, leading them into the bowels of the pub. “I'll find you a table.”

Despite being in a little town, the pub wasn't empty at all. Mary had to weave between a series of occupied tables before she could find a free one for them. “There you go, Mr du Bois, as fine a table as the old laird from Achfary might have claimed.”

“It's a great table, Mary.” It offered a view of half the floor and was pretty large. Its only inconvenience was the stag antler suspended over it. “Very fine.”

“I'm just glad you're back and didn't sell the old house,” she said, wiping her hands on the apron she wore. “It isn't just right when the old places go to new owners. They lose their soul.”

“In the end I thought my mother would have wanted me to keep it,” Arthur said, taking a seat across from Merlin. “You know how that is.”

“Aye, that I do,” she said. Then noticing that they were ready to order, she added, “What a fool I am. You want food. Let me bring you something.”

Before Mary could go, Arthur grabbed her gently by the wrist. “Just no venison. Merlin here doesn't want to slay off his childhood.”

“You prick,” Merlin told him, smiling so amiably while kicking him under the table Arthur was sure the sweetness was all fake. Then to Mary he said, “But if we could go for a chicken burger or something? And onion rings?”

“Don't worry,” Mary said, patting her chest. “I'll see to it.”

With that she returned to the kitchen, while Merlin and Arthur started a kick fight under the table that got them laughing louder and louder till they had to stop for fear of looking like lunatics. 

“I can see it,” Merlin said, wheezing for the laughter. “They'll think the local laird--” Merlin made air quotes at the words, "has come back but only to show how mad he is. And then... and then they'll suspect you of being all mysterious and dangerous like some kind of Scottish Dracula. Without the accent, of course and--”

Arthur buried his chuckles in his napkin. “Idiot, stop it, you're not even making sense. Is that what happens when you haven't had enough food?”

“No, that's what happens when I haven't had quite enough sex,” Merlin said, his voice going softer as the conversation got more private. “We could have had more of it if we hadn’t come.”

“Oh, gantin' fur it, I see,” said Arthur, in an appalling imitation of the local accent that set Merlin off giggling again. “But then you wouldn't be having that,” he said, when Mary brought them the two largest platters of food Arthur had ever seen. “Waiting is a fair trade.”

Despite their loud antics Mary just smiled and described the food on the platters for Merlin and Arthur's benefit. “And that,” she finished, “is the dish we're best known for, the pancetta chowder.”

“Thank you, Mary,” Merlin said, making googly eyes at the food now that they had it. “This is splendid.” 

After that Mary left them to eat. Out of a common agreement, Arthur and Merlin's banter ceased in favour of tasting the food. Only when they were fuller and more soused – Merlin more than Arthur– did it reprise, only to assume a more all over the place character.

By the time eleven struck Arthur was sober again and so full he thought he'd never be able to eat again and Merlin was completely drunk (but he'd had a try of the Scottish whisky, _because hey Arthur, we're in Scotland_.)

At closing time Arthur had to kneel by Merlin's chair and touch his fingers to Merlin's neck to rouse him. “Come on, big boy,” he said. “Time to go home.”

“It's cosy in here,” said Merlin, slurring his words. “And there's a fire. And antlers.”

Arthur's heart clenched strangely at the out of the blue mention. Merlin made a sweet drunk. “They'd give you nightmares,” he said, kissing Merlin's temple before standing up with the purpose of hauling Merlin after him. “Come on, Merlin, up.”

“But I like it here.” Merlin smiled inanely. “And Mary says I'm handsome.”

Arthur saw no other option than dragging Merlin up against his will. The inn wasn't really an inn anymore and had no rooms on offer. Once he had him, Arthur's arms safely circling Merlin's middle, Merlin slumped against him, warm and smelling of whisky. “Merlin,” said Arthur against his neck. But Merlin had closed his eyes and was breathing slow. “Oi, Merlin. I need you to walk, sleepyhead.”

“I'm walking,” said Merlin, just shuffling in his arms. “See.”

“No, you're not,” Arthur pointed out, unable, on his life to sound superior, smug and teasing as he'd meant to. “You're just shifting your feet.”

“That's walking,” Merlin said in a bout of drunken lucidity.

Arthur sighed and propped his chin on Merlin's head, which was only possible thanks to all of Merlin's slouching. “You idiot, that's not--”

“I can help you walk him to the car,” Mary offered, surprising him with her presence.

Arthur wanted to keep Merlin to himself and be the one that saw him safely home. He didn't want the world that had narrowed down to him and Merlin to be encroached upon by other people, but he saw the sense in accepting her offer. “Thanks, he might look slight, but the bugger's heavy.”

Together, one of them on either side of him, he and Mary helped Merlin into Arthur's car. With Mary there Merlin had at least made an effort to comply, which meant they got Merlin where Arthur wanted him. The moment he was placed in the safe haven of his seat though, Merlin succumbed to sleep.

As Arthur crouched by the passenger door to fix Merlin's seatbelt, Mary, who'd been lingering behind, said, “Have you two been long together?”

The seatbelt fastened, Arthur rose, wiping his hands together and closing Merlin's door. “No, not really. A few weeks.”

“It looks as though you've been together longer,” she said with a little shrug and blush. “Like you're married or something.”

The mental image that elicited didn't make Arthur panic. At one time when he was younger and making a career for himself it might have terrified him. Now it didn't. Of course he and Merlin wouldn't be getting married in the near future, they had ways to go yet, and one of the most important steps they should have taken hadn't been seen to yet, but it wasn't a possibility Arthur rejected out of hand for his future. It was quite a nice picture to have. “No, nice thought, but no,” he said, not wanting to go into particulars. He'd never been good at the sharing part of interpersonal relationships. “But,” he added in an impromptu effort not to act cold, “it feels easy, with him. It feels easy.”

Mary didn't smile or comment. She just sighed, patted Arthur's shoulder and toddled a little tiredly back to the door of her inn. “Just come again some time, together. Before you go back to London.”

“We will,” Arthur said, feeling he could promise this on Merlin's behalf. “And thank you for the lovely evening, Mary.”

That night was the first night he and Merlin didn't have sex, what with Arthur having had to haul, rather than entice Merlin, to bed. But wrapped around Merlin's dozing self, Arthur thought, that wasn't disappointing at all. Sharing his bed with someone was a very intimate thing and, Arthur found, one he wanted to have more of. 

“It's... nice,” he said, to the ceiling, before turning around to turn the light off. “Night, Merlin,” he said, though Merlin was snoring so hard there was zero doubt he hadn’t heard him.

The rest of their Scottish holiday was quiet. They went grocery shopping on the day after their pub night because surviving on the food that Arthur did have wasn't possible. In their free time between meals, they saw to the little chores and repairs the manor needed. So as to keep the house toasty enough, they chopped wood to get kindling for the fireplaces in every room. Contrary to expectations, Merlin quite liked this activity. The feel of an axe in his hand made him cast himself in the role of an adventurer, which was unusual for him since he wasn't a country lad, but it was an enjoyable imagining nonetheless. Plus hunting down kindling made him happy because it made it possible to get warm by nights.

Over the course of their stay they had more sex than Merlin had probably ever had in his life and when they weren't having it, they were spending their time together in other ways. They trekked across the grounds of Arthur's property, fished by the lake, traipsed through stretches of countryside that didn't belong to Arthur but to neighbours of his that kept inviting Arthur in for tea and scones or to show him old photos of Ygraine romping on the property. Arthur never got mad at that, as he had before when his mother was mentioned, but rather showed Merlin the photos, fingers reverently tracing her features, and telling him about the scant memory he had of the woman who'd given birth to him until both Merlin and the neighbours had tears in their eyes. 

When they weren't socialising, they relished their time alone up at the manor. They read to each other all the old books lying about that had belonged to generations of prior du Boises. Books about ornithology, farming, old novels by Bulwer Lytton that made Merlin cringe at the clichés, old classics that were much more respectable, as well as Ygraine's great-uncle's pornography collection, all of it very 1950s and hilarious. Merlin ended up quoting passages of it to Arthur when they went to bed at night and it was too cold for sex.

Throughout their stay they played. Merlin practised his violin, both the compositions he'd have to play for the RPO and beloved pieces of music he wanted to fill the house with. 

Arthur finished composing his own piece. Merlin played for him the violin solo sections and hummed the orchestration so as to summon the sound of Arthur's music, how it would be once performed on a stage. 

Among peals of laughter and Arthur's peevish “An oboe doesn't really sound like that, Merlin,” they rehearsed Arthur's composition to the point that Arthur called himself satisfied with it. “With a few tweaks this could really see the light of day.”

“Did you ever doubt it?” Merlin asked him, forever wondering why Arthur couldn't see his own talent as a composer.

Arthur scrubbed a hand through his hair back to front. “Yeah, I mean I have an appreciation for other's people music and I believe I'm good at understanding it, but that doesn't mean that I can make my own.”

“No, you're right,” Merlin said, walking up to Arthur and putting his hands on his shoulders. “But hearing your music has convinced me that you really can compose.” Merlin moved his hands up till he was cradling Arthur's face. “Maybe one hundred years from now a conductor will be directing an orchestra playing a Pendragon piece.”

Arthur coloured. It was very noticeable because the house, fireplaces working or not, was very cold and Arthur had been paler in it than Merlin had known him before. But right now his cheeks were berry red and his neck was rosy. Merlin couldn't restrain himself from nipping at his mouth and nudging his tongue between Arthur's lips.

Arthur was so responsive that they ended up having sex on Arthur's grand piano, which was one of Merlin's all time sexual fantasies fulfilled.

Since a lot of his sexual fantasies were being ticked off his very personal bucket list, and he was otherwise busy with so many activities he actually enjoyed, however odd some of them were (peat bog visit included) time seemed to be flying. 

When Merlin said, only half serious, 'but time does fly', Arthur pinched him in the belly. At the end of the day though they both realised that Merlin's platitude wasn't so far off the mark. 

Their time out of time, here in Scotland where they could be together without problem, was winding to a close. The fact that they would have to go back to London for the impending concerts was a reality. Rehearsals awaited and so did the answer to Merlin's application.

They drove away from Arthur's property six days after Merlin's sad realisation.

“Thank god we didn't go hunting,” Merlin said, as they drove through a lonely stretch of motorway surrounded by length of moor-like countryside, a last attempt at recreating the atmosphere that had characterised their holiday. “That's just a cruel activity.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur said, evidently attempting to do the same.

Arthur only got to the phone before it stopped ringing by chance. “Yes,” he barked, wrapping a towel around his middle and shedding droplets onto the floor. “Pendragon speaking.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, his voice warm and sounding amused. “Did I catch you at a bad moment?”

“No,” Arthur hurried to say. He wanted to sit down and have time to talk to Merlin but knew that, wet as he was, it wasn't possible without ruining the furniture. “You didn't... I was... I was going over some papers.”

“Liar,” said Merlin, chuckling softly.

“I'm not--” Arthur decided that trying to convince Merlin he hadn't been lying was pointless. “Why did you call?”

“Can't I call you now?” Merlin said, almost, Arthur could have sworn, wistfully.

“Course you can,” Arthur said, imbuing mild reproof to his tone. “It's just that it's seven AM. I thought you'd be sleeping.”

“Well,” Merlin told him. “I'm not that lazy. I wasn't. Actually I'm in Elena's car.”

“Oh,” said Arthur, picturing Merlin in the car with his friend. “Where are you two off to?”

“Oh, I'm not with Elena,” said Merlin, the noise of traffic almost overwhelming his voice. “I'm driving to yours.”

Arthur felt his heart squeeze in his chest even while a note of alarm sounded in his head. “You know it's not wise.”

“Oh no,” Merlin told him. “I don't mean to come up to yours. Just--” Merlin cursed under his breath; by the sounds of it, he was railing against Elena's car. “I'm just parking. And...” More of Merlin's low cussing. “Well, if I can get into that tight spot. And I was wondering whether you'd like--” A sound of relief. Merlin must have managed to park. “You'd like to drive out with me.”

Arthur had an inkling Merlin had borrowed his friend's car with a plan in mind. “Where do you want to take me?”

“Uh, uh.” Merlin breathed out. “That's a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Arthur cajoled. 

“Yeah, I'm taking you places,” Merlin told him, in a conspiratorial tone. “But I'm not telling you where. That's a surprise.” There was a second hesitant pause. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm coming,” said Arthur, shivering and not just because he was cold.

Arthur kept asking Merlin where they were going for the first half of their car trip. He gave up around midday when Merlin treated him to a scowl and a stop at a petrol station, which included sneaky kissing, cucumber sandwiches, and some refuelling with Maltesers as well as petrol. Upon Arthur insisting Merlin didn't know where he was going, Merlin also bought a map, saying, “Happy now?”

“I do feel more confident we'll get wherever it is we're going, yes,” Arthur said.

After Merlin studied the map, they meandered along some country roads. Thanks to all the kissing they'd done at the station, Arthur was more pliable and less prone to complain about Merlin being lost. This, in turn, made Merlin a calmer driver who was less likely to miss road signs. And so it was that they ventured into a tiny village. 

After having taken in the sign that announced their location, Arthur asked, “Merlin, what are we doing in Rushden?”

“You really have no patience, have you?” said Merlin, following the road specified on the map.

“It's just that,” Arthur said, lowering the car window to study the locale, “I can't think of anything we could possibly do in a village like this on a random Saturday morning.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Merlin said, leaning over the steering wheel to get a proper view of the lane he was driving along. If he wasn't mistaken they weren't that far from their objective.

“But why the mystery?” Arthur whined. “It's not as if I can go back home now. You can tell me.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, having a hard time remaining serious when Arthur was acting like a curious child who just wanted to be told where they were going, “anticipating things is fun.”

“Not in this case,” Arthur said. “Unless you drove out here for an out of town booty call... which is odd because we could have found a place in London. A hotel maybe.”

Merlin slowed down and parked his car a few yards away from their destination. “It's not about sex.”

“No?” Arthur feigned a pout. “Then what is this about?”

“Get out the car and you'll find out,” said Merlin, freeing himself from his seatbelt. “The more you natter, the more you postpone the big event.”

Arthur smiled excitedly and his eyes brightened considerably. “There's a big event?”

“Come on, Arthur. You don't want it spoiled,” Merlin says, exiting the car.

Merlin watched Arthur dither a few seconds in his seat, before he, too, got out.

Aware that Arthur had almost been coaxed where he wanted him to be, Merlin walked up the drive and towards the building facing them.

Not wholly compliant though, Arthur put his hands on his hips, blew air threw his mouth and stood rooted to the spot. He stayed that way until Merlin got to the door. At that point he jogged up to Merlin. Once he had caught up with him, Arthur studied his surroundings, then said, “It's a church.” Arthur's brow wrinkled in thought. “What are we doing close to a church?”

Merlin pulled him into the building. “We're in this church,” Merlin said, walking into the cool shadows of the nave, “because of its organ. This church is relatively new but their organ is from the late seventeenth century. It's perfectly functional, was recently tuned, and some people I know from the RCM swear it has the sweetest sound, so I--” Merlin rushed the words out because he didn't want to sound too sappy. “Contacted the vicar,” Merlin said, pointing backwards towards the door marked 'office'. “He's a very friendly vicar, used to calls from music lovers, and well, he said that you could play his organ for as long as you want.”

Surprising him with the rapidity of the gesture, Arthur gathered Merlin's body to his and clung, nose buried in Merlin's neck. “You went through all those hoops to get me to play an ancient organ?”

Merlin laughed; at pains to do anything else that would look even remotely cool. “Er, yes.”

Arthur took his chin in his hand and kissed Merlin's mouth. “Nobody,” he said, his grip on Merlin getting tighter, but a good tight that stopped short of hurting, “has ever done something like this for me. Nobody.”

“So you're happy?” Merlin said shakily, a tentative smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” Arthur said, clapping Merlin's back with his hand. “Yeah, you could say that.”

They stayed in the embrace a few moments more, until Arthur cleared his throat and stepped back, face a bit pinker. “So where's this marvellous organ of yours?”

“Here,” Merlin said, leading Arthur to the upstairs balcony where the organ was. “It's up here.”

Arthur touched his fingers along the surface of the instrument with a reverence Merlin had never seen him use before. “It's really beautiful.”

Merlin leant against the balcony railing that overlooked the choir. “Then why don't you play me something?”

Arthur skimmed his fingers over the keys. “Yeah, I--” He gulped. “Yeah I think I will.”

Arthur's smile when he played was so beautiful Merlin didn't regret for one moment the early wake up call he'd had to subject himself to to get himself here at a decent time. He would never even complain about the long drive and having had to beg a car off Elena. Arthur's delight in the music and the instrument was too much of a privilege to witness for him to. 

To be wholly honest, Merlin thought as he settled in to listen more comfortably, he would never regret a moment spent with that man over there, ever.

A desire to get Merlin closer ripping through him, Arthur pulled Merlin down on the bed with with him.

Merlin chuckled and tumbled on top of him. 

Laughing in response, his heart floating free, Arthur grabbed Merlin by the shoulders and resettled him so that none of Merlin's flailing limbs would hit him. “There, you clumsy man,” he said, unable to tear the smile from his lips, his voice vibrating with what he recognised as soft humour. “There.” Merlin's knees now sat outside his hips and his hands either side of Arthur's head. So positioned, Merlin was sure not to elbow Arthur. Now I'm safe.”

“Kill joy,” Merlin said, though he didn't seem too fazed by Arthur's actions, for right next he touched his mouth to his.

As their bodies pressed together, Merlin’s kiss became filthier and his motions on top of Arthur lewder. He pulled Arthur’s hair—not so hard as to actually really hurt, but enough to make Arthur let out a breath—then rolled him onto his stomach.

“Something you want, Merlin?” Arthur teased as the weight of Merlin pinned him down, as the warmth of him coaxed the flames of arousal deep inside him. The hardness of Merlin's cock as it nestled between Arthur's legs was burning his skin.

“Yeah,” Merlin said, sliding down the bed and running his palms over the muscles of Arthur's arse, following them with his mouth. 

Arthur breathed against the duvet, what Merlin was doing woke up an intensity of want in Arthur that flared, bright and fierce, deep inside him, gripping his guts and heart.

Merlin nipped at Arthur's skin, softly at first, then harder when Arthur’s body lifted off the mattress to meet those soft lips of his. 

Arthur closed his eyes and pushed off his arms to get enough momentum to thrust against the mattress. Along with the feel of Merlin's mouth and fingers on him, the movement provided nearly enough friction to send him fumbling into orgasm quicker than thought.

“Want you to fuck me,” Arthur ordered, his voice rough with arousal. 

“Mmm,” Merlin said, his breath burning where it fanned across Arthur's fevered, sweaty skin. “Is that what you want?”

Arthur moved, seeking satisfaction, not really knowing what he was doing aside from being certain he'd come apart if he didn't get more. “Yeah, you can say that,” he rasped.

Merlin put a series of kisses that resembled bites to the flesh he encountered. The one that touched Arthur's hole was the hottest thing Arthur had ever had done to him. He had to grit his teeth to bear the soft skim of wet lips that made fire radiate from his nerve endings. 

The finger breaching him kept his blood boiling at a low simmer. Merlin's accompanying noises, his touches had it unfurling inside him. That left him nearly incoherent and wanting.

Then Merlin pushed a second finger, long and wet with spit, inside him. So stretched, Arthur grumbled his approval, but still felt he needed to give Merlin a clearer insight into what he wanted. It didn't pay to be demure. And Merlin... Merlin was just surprising when you pushed him to the edge, when you made him want it. Arthur loved it so when he got that way. Passionate and unfettered. Getting to know how Merlin was in bed was one of the greatest pleasures of having him as a sex partner. Arthur could study Merlin for years, but he'd never learn as much about the man as when they were this way.

“You’re impatient.” Merlin pushed his finger deeper inward, stretching him but at the same time occasionally grazing his prostate. The more he did, the more Arthur's cock spilled traces of pre come, dampening the duvet with it.

“God, Merlin, be a bit quicker.”

Merlin stilled, then the mattress shifted and Arthur felt Merlin's lips on his tail bone, they were open and soft, perfectly and blindly arousing. 

Arthur grunted. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

“No,” Merlin said, getting off him to reach for the bottle of lube Arthur kept in the first drawer of his night stand. “It's just that I love the anticipation almost as much as the sex.”

“That's crazy,” said Arthur, turning his head to catch a glimpse of Merlin. “That's not how it works.”

Arthur felt Merlin move; the mattress springs give. Face flaming, he settled his face against the cool duvet, each noise making his heart tick a little bit faster, getting him that little bit closer to getting his desire. The flick of a cap being opened, the sigh and rustle of the bedding as Merlin positioned himself behind him again. “Sex is about the head.”

“In the sense that you're mental?” Arthur asked, as Merlin went back to work, working cool, slippery, slicked up fingers inside him, biting and licking, stretching Arthur. So as not to shout or make noises that would alert the entire building to what was going on inside flat 10, Arthur had to flop back down, arms under him and bite his forearms. Despite Arthur’s previous attempts at hurrying Merlin, or perhaps because of them, Merlin went to town and took his bloody time.

As his prostate was touched and nudged by two fingers, Arthur's thoughts dissolved in a sea of pleasure that was like revolving waves rippling outwards from his spine. To distract himself Arthur started humming little musical snatches to himself. 

“No taking the work home,” Merlin said, behind him, his fingers playing Arthur as Merlin's bow got melodies out of a fiddle. 

“Then do what you should.”

A third finger, and Arthur felt an incredible amount of warmth spool inside of him. He was starting to think he would come without his cock being touched. He was deep into this consideration, when he heard the very distinctive noise of a foil being ripped. 

He could feel Merlin behind him, seeking the right angle for penetration. For a moment, poised as he was on the edge of contact, the blunt tip of Merlin's cock pressing at his hole as though it couldn't fit, anticipation overwhelmed him.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, bearing down on him so that Merlin could enter him. “You’re past teasing now.”

So goaded, Merlin pushed through all resistance until he was fully seated inside. 

Arthur fought the momentary burn as much as he relished it. It was certainly different from Merlin's endless teasing. There was an edge of pain to it, but of the kind that bloomed into a dull fullness that made Arthur want to lose himself into his own body. 

A little overwhelmed as Merlin paused mid-motion, he bit his tongue so hard he tasted the tang of blood. Merlin kissed Arthur’s back, following the lines of his shoulder blades, his cock twitching inside him, gaining an inch as he did so, as Merlin moved on top of him.

“Oh my god,” Arthur blathered, asking himself if he'd said that aloud. But then he couldn't even wonder about that any longer because Merlin was pulling Arthur off the bed, with an arm around Arthur’s middle.

Arthur guessed what Merlin wanted to do for him and grabbed a pillow to place under himself. Thus accomplished, Arthur felt Merlin reach for his cock and pull in time with his own motions, his palm so hot his hips couldn't help seeking it.

Merlin was moving faster now. It was all too intense— too bright. Arthur had had lots of sex before but no act had ever come close to this. He soared on a level where everything was physicality.

Hoping to feel the coolness of the bedding against his skin, he pressed his cheek to the mattress, face burning.

All the while he heard Merlin’s panted breaths and moans sound against his ear. As Merlin ratcheted up the pressure, zeroing in perfectly on Arthur's prostate, Arthur's vision went white, he shuddered, and gave a cry as he spilled over his own hand, hot and ropey.

Merlin’s climax, Arthur guessed, began when his thrusts deepened – making Arthur feel him all the way inside him with a keenness doubled by Arthur having already come – then shallowed out. Merlin's muscles tightened and an exhalation was breathed in Arthur's ear, that had him trembling with the remains of sated desire.

They both struggled to catch their breath. Arthur felt a bit mellowed out, and he had to wait before the sensation went and he felt more awake and aware. 

All through it Merlin kissed him but just as Arthur started to come out of the post orgasmic high Merlin seemed to become prey to it, his eyes closing. Arthur pinched his side. “Hey, no, you promised you'd come with me to choose Morgana's birthday present.”

“My thighs are seizing.”

“That's what you get for topping like there's no tomorrow.”

“Then let me sleep,” Merlin said, rolling onto his flank and seeking a pillow to burrow under. 

“Uh, no, you promised you'd come. You said, and I quote, 'I don't think your sister's that bad. I like her and I'll be happy to help you choose a present for her.' Well, now the time to pay up has come. I refuse to bear the burden of choice only to be ripped a new one when I fail to live up to her standards. I need help.”

Merlin sighed, “Aaarthur.”

Arthur had never heard his name pronounced in such a way as to make it mostly vowels, but Merlin had succeeded. It would have been sweet, if Arthur hadn't read it for the move it was -- a way to get out of gift shopping. 

Arthur would have cut Merlin some slack and let him doze on if only shopping wasn't something Arthur was crap at. As it was, he was adamant Merlin would have to help him, so he prodded him till he got Merlin in the shower and dressed.

In spite of Merlin resisting him at every turn, they even made good time. They suffered a minor incident that delayed them for a while – a tourist snapping photos of the neighbourhood coming up to them and asking about the closest Tube stop in great detail – but they made it to the shopping centre nearest to Arthur's all right.

Once they were at the shopping centre, Merlin failed to help him. He said, “Look, Arthur, they've got a wonderful MP4 player there.” Then he made a beeline for WH Smith to buy lousy best-sellers Arthur was sure no one in their right minds would want read. Sounded on the topic, Merlin said, “Now, don't be a snob, Arthur, or you won't get your midnight snog today.”

And while Arthur did get a snog while they were queuing to pay for Merlin's purchases, that didn't get them any closer to selecting a present for Morgana. 

“Merlin, are you making me pay for not letting you have your post coital nap?”

Merlin grinned. “Yeah, yeah, caught red-handed.”

“Really?” Arthur said, who had thus far thought that was just a wild stab at a theory.

Merlin shrugged. “Well, I will help you, promise. I just wanted to make you sweat for it. Naps are vital.”

“Next!” said the cashier, and Merlin moved up to pay just as an odd clicking noise caught Arthur's attention. As Merlin fished his debit card out of a weathered wallet, Arthur turned around to see if he could place the noise. He thought he saw a glimpse of a familiar white parka – which he couldn't exactly place – but by the time Arthur had wandered away from the queue to investigate Merlin had caught up with him.

“Hey,” he said, bumping shoulders with him as he slipped his receipt into his new white and blue plastic bag. “Wanted to do a runner?”

“No,” said Arthur scanning the other aisles of the shop. “No, I thought I saw something.”

“Santa Claus, the Pied Piper, someone we know?” A frown creased his brow.

“No, no, it must have been my imagination,” said Arthur, feeling as though his sixth sense had latched on to something but unable to prove it rationally.

Bag in one hand, Merlin dragged Arthur out of WH Smith's. “Come on. Let's hurry before they close.”

“Now you want to hurry?” said Arthur, digging his heel just on principle.

“Yeah, I saw a Miller Harris store,” Merlin said, pointing him in the appropriate direction. “I think we should get Morgana a nice perfume, a special fragrance or something.”

Relieved at the idea that Merlin had actually thought up a gift idea for Morgana, Arthur followed him into the store.

His violin tucked under his chin, eyes on the sheet music, Merlin played the last few strains of Bruch's _Scottish Fantasy_. Not liking his own rendition, he went back a few measures and executed the same phrase until he was positive it sounded as it ought.

He’d been at this for nearly two hours, preparing for the common practice session that would take place in roughly an hour. He'd been focusing on the music so hard he almost didn't hear the knock on the door. It had to be repeated for him to be shaken out of his trance.

“Merlin,” Gaius said, poking his head in, “the Artistic Director wants a word with you. Arthur's there as well.”

Merlin put his bow down. “Is this about my application?”

“No, Merlin,” said Gaius levelly, an eyebrow lifted, “it's about that Santa's Assistant job at the Debenham's Christmas grotto.”

The edges of Merlin's mouth curled upward in an involuntary smile. He put his violin back in the case and said, “I'm coming. I'm coming.”

Merlin found Arthur in the Artistic Director's office. He was smiling, just like the Artistic Director, Mr Cador, was.

“Mr Emrys,” the Artistic Director said, shaking his hand. “I hear you were rehearsing; I'm sorry for interrupting you.”

“Ah no, no problem,” Merlin said, taking the seat Mr Cador offered. It coincidentally was the one next to Arthur. “I was just trying the _Scottish Fantasy_ on for size.”

“Extra homework,” Mr Cador said, sinking in the chair opposite Merlin and Arthur's. “Good, good.”

Merlin smiled and Arthur did the same, with the difference that Merlin kept staring at what the Artistic Director was doing in the hopes of divining what he would say next. He really hoped he'd been hired as the RPO's second violin. It was a good position and it'd allow him to work with Arthur, which, relationship aside, he liked doing. Merlin smiled like a fool and wiped damp hands on his trousers. “I want the next concert to sound good.”

“Perfect,” said the Artistic Director. Then turning to Arthur he added, “Don't you think so, Mr Pendragon?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “Merlin's commitment to us has been unimpeachable.”

The Artistic Director fiddled with a folder that had been opened on his desk all this while. “And that is why we, as in me and the board of directors, thought it would be appropriate for us to hir--”

A knock on the door interrupted Mr Cador's delivery. A woman whom Merlin took to be the Director's secretary said, “Sir, a parcel has arrived for you; it was marked as urgent.”

“Can't it wait?” Mr Cador said, his jaw twitching the littlest bit. With his hand he encompassed his audience. “I have people here.”

The secretary tutted. “The person who delivered it said it was very important and that you might want to have a look at it now.” She paused. “Sir, I don't think he was joking.”

“Okay, all right,” Mr Cador said, his shoulders drooping in surrender. “Show me this parcel of yours.”

The secretary exited. Some noise came from the other room then she bustled back in, handing Mr Cador, the parcel. There were seven letters stamped across the back of it: private. Mr Cador winged an eyebrow at the envelope and said, “If you'll excuse me a moment.”

Both Arthur and Merlin accepted the Artistic Director's apologies.

While muttering, “I swear if this is a hoax, heads will fall,” Mr Cador opened the envelope. Out of it spilled a series of photographs. They were in high resolution though blurry and came in a large format. 

“What the hell,” said Mr Cador spreading them out on the surface of his desk and picking one up. It portrayed Arthur and Merlin kissing in WH Smith’s. When he'd finished examining the photo, Mr Cador said, “I want an explanation.”

Arthur went white and Merlin felt a bit light-headed. He hadn't had more than a cursory look at those photos but he was pretty sure they were self-explanatory.

“We never meant to lie about it,” said Arthur quickly, trying to catch Mr Cador's eyes. “It's a private arrangement.”

“You didn't mean to lie about your relationship with the soloist the RPO is now sponsoring?” Mr Cador said. “Yet you never mentioned it.”

“I meant it to be strictly private,” said Arthur, very curt, but also polite.

“It's just...” Merlin began, needing to speak up because there was a job on the line, “that we didn't want to put the focus on us but on the music.”

Mr Cador hummed. “What I don't understand is this need you had for secrecy,” he said, picking up another one of the photos and letting it drop. “I fear that you intended this relationship to be secret for less honest reasons than simply wishing it to be private. Otherwise you might have mentioned it in passing. There's no rule prohibiting sexual relations between members of an orchestra.” Mr Cador leant back in his chair, his face dark. “And yet you thought it necessary to obfuscate.”

Merlin wanted to explain the ins and outs of the thought processes that had led him and Arthur to lie about their being together, but Arthur pre-empted him. “I was being blackmailed,” said Arthur.

“What?” said both Mr Cador and Merlin at the same time.

Arthur gave Merlin a grimace and sighed in Mr Cador's direction. “A musician who wanted Merlin's job came up to me a couple of months ago and told me that he'd report us to the RPO board if he didn't get the job. He said he'd denounce us as a case of corruption, implicating Merlin and insinuating less than pure reasons as to why Merlin had got the job instead of him.” Arthur paused and wetted his lips. “Except at the time I had no relationship with Merlin and as you know Merlin got the job because of the momentum his performance gathered after his first time here. Still, the threat made me think. It caused me to be silent about Merlin and me when we... happened.”

At the receipt of this news, Mr Cador hummed thoughtfully. Merlin was similarly employed. His thoughts were churning fast too, so much so he wasn't paying the Artistic Director the strictest attention.

Normally, being on the verge of losing a job would have had him attentive, but that wasn't quite the case now. He was being subjected to a new slew of information Arthur had seen fit to keep from him and no matter how much he wanted to, Merlin couldn't see his secret keeping as something positive. 

Merlin wasn't sure how he'd deal with that. For now he knew only two things: his stomach was heaving and he wanted to salvage his shot at that job. “I didn't know about this blackmail story,” he began.

“I didn't want to worry you uselessly,” Arthur told him.

Merlin overrode him. “But I swear I've done my very best by the RPO.” He took a breath. “Arthur and I... that has nothing to do with the way I play, except as inspiration perhaps, and I hope you still feel that you can trust me to do my best.”

Mr Cador touched his index fingers together. “I know you're a good violinist, Mr Emrys,” he said, slowly, as if he was picking his words very carefully. “Please, let no one tell you otherwise. But as you know, the Royal Philharmonic lives off good press. The very fact that someone went so far to cast doubts on the proceedings that gave you a job, and is likely willing to spread this--”

“Piece of slander,” Arthur said.

“Slander about your integrity--” Mr Cador accepted Arthur's word choice. “--puts me in a untenable position. This late in the game and with these photos here, I'm not even in the right place to spin a story.” The leather of Mr Cador's chair creaked as he moved. “Unfortunately, this looks bad.” Mr Cador's eyes were fixed on Merlin's. “I'm sorry, Mr Emrys, but I can't--”

“Offer me the position, is that right?” Merlin guessed, shoulders slumping, chest deflating. 

“Yes, I am sorry, but that is unfortunately so.”

Merlin felt as though a cold bucket of water had been dropped on him. He even shivered as though that had happened. “I-- I see,” he said, the fight going out of him. He couldn't promise more than that he'd do his best and that evidently wasn't enough for the RPO.

Arthur shot upright. “That's clearly preposterous!”

“I'm afraid we have to look unimpeachable.”

“Unimpeachable,” Arthur repeated as white noise sounded in Merlin's ears. “Unimpeachable. You ought to protect your talent from the attacks of those who're spreading rumours that are patently untrue.”

Mr Cador picked up one of the photos. “True enough, though”

“Not in the sense that the person who sent those photos indicated,” Arthur said, gesticulating wildly at the pictures. “Merlin never slept his way into the RPO.”

“I,” said Cador, “wasn't implying that he did. Merely that people would think so.”

“Enough,” said Merlin, heaving himself onto his feet and passing a hand through his hair. “Enough, please. This is humiliating enough as it is. I-- I'm withdrawing my application. I'll go look for some other job. I just--” He shifted his weight, which felt immense, as though he was attempting to move elephantine limbs. “I just don't want to cause any trouble or to have this discussed further.”

“Merlin.” Arthur started towards him.

But Merlin stepped back and said to Mr Cador, “I hope you can understand.”

Mr Cador shook Merlin's hand. “I do. And I do hope you understand my position. I can't really do anything other than this.”

“I see,” Merlin said.

“But I hope that won't put a damper on your last concert with us.”

“No, it won't,” said Merlin. He was damned if his last one was a subpar performance. “I'll still perform my best.”

“And you'll be invited to our Christmas Gala, all the same,” said Mr Cador. Now that Merlin was disposed of, he sounded more indulgent and looked more relaxed, none of those facial tweaks in place that had characterised his expression since the emergence of the photos. With Merlin having surrendered his claim to that second violin position, Mr Cador seemed to have become another, more affable person. “Since you've played for us for nearly three months it's your due.”

“I think I'll be busy looking for jobs,” said Merlin, his future looking suddenly bleaker. “But thank you.”

“The invitation will be sent regardless.”

Arthur tried to protest Merlin's decision but Merlin felt his interview was done. He left the office, his shoulders and chest heaving.

Arthur caught up with him by the lifts. “Wait, Merlin, wait,” he said, grabbing him by the arm.

Merlin called the lift and shook Arthur off. “I don't want to talk about this.”

“We can fight this decision,” Arthur said, trying to get Merlin to look him in the eye by tipping his chin up.

Moved by a mixture of self-pity and a darker sensation that lodged in the pit of his belly, Merlin glared, then snapped, “Why didn't you tell me?”

“You know why!”

“No, I actually don't!” Merlin shouted, lowering his voice when Mr Cador's errant secretary passed them by. “I actually don't,” he said, calmer. “This concerned me as well. You treated me like a child.”

“I was trying to protect you from the blackmail!”

“By letting me ignore a problem that could potentially sink my career?” Merlin said. He snorted, looking away. “Don't make me laugh.”

“I thought that if nothing could be pinned down on us, then we could come out and Muirden would...”

“So it's Muirden!” Merlin's eyes went wide. God, the man was famous and respected. They'd surely believe him over Merlin. He was really fucked.

“Yes,” Arthur said, trying to pull Merlin towards a quieter corner. “It was him. He wanted the youth concerts series. I told him no. He set out to destroy you.”

The lift landed with a ping.

Merlin was so distracted by it Arthur succeeded in wrangling him into the solitary corner. “So you decided to not consult me and act as though you were king of the castle when this was about me as well?”

“What should I have done?” Arthur said, eyes narrowing, his body getting smaller as his shoulders curled inwards. “I wanted you to be fine. I thought it would all go away if I didn't... if I kept you at a distance. But then I couldn't and I thought it'd go away if we just bided our time and waited it out till you had the job.”

Merlin's chest deflated. “Well, that didn't work, did it? He clearly had us followed.”

“I know.” Arthur tried to cup Merlin's face.

For a moment Merlin let him because lies or no, Arthur's touch still made his heart leap and his skin warm. Then he stepped back. He let himself sag against the wall behind him. “You should have told me. You shouldn't have played with my life. I'm not an idiot.”

“I realise,” Arthur said. “I think... I think that you're quite... You're smart, Merlin. But I can't help myself. When I'm with someone I want to protect them.”

Merlin's head whipped up. “But that's not what a relationship is about, is it? It's about talking and being honest. Not making things look like they're fine when they're not. At least that's what I want.” 

Arthur backed away from him as though he'd been slapped. His eyes went round and the light in them dimmed by a few notches. He stuck his lips together, pushing them outwards. “I see,” he said. “So you're planning to what... end it?” He licked his lips and on a breath, he added. “Us?”

Merlin scratched at his temple. “I don't know!” he said. “Look at this from where I'm standing. I've just lost a job opportunity I'd banked a lot on and in the same breath I learn you've been lying to me. That there's someone out there having it in for me professionally.” He let his voice quieten. “I can't... I can't deal with this right now.”

Arthur's jaw tightened. “So you're leaving me hanging?”

“No,” said Merlin, wondering why Arthur couldn't see his side of things, how his life had undergone such upheaval in the space of a morning that he couldn't make heads or tails of it. He didn't understand why Arthur couldn't see that his silence on Muirden had affected Merlin greatly. If Merlin had known his job at the RPO was threatened he would have looked further afield for an audition. “I'm taking some time to think.”

“That sounds an awful lot a like a break up to me,” was all Arthur said, walking off with his head hung, leaving Merlin standing there alone.

Morgana accepted the tea cup from her butler and smiled, but didn't drink or resume the conversation till the man was gone. “The last concert was good.”

Arthur put his own cup away. He had no desire for tea now. “Yeah, got tons of flowers. What more could a man want?”

“Arthur,” Morgana said, taking a sip of her drink as though to hold him on tenterhooks for what she was about to say, “you'll get him back. It's not the end of the world.”

“It's easy for you to say.”

“Indeed,” said Morgana, smirking as she set aside her cup. Arthur suspected her of having ordered that tea only to flaunt her new, more serviceable butler. “It is. I know for a fact that he was looking at you with love on his face at that final party.”

Arthur picking at his nails. “Yeah, so much so he's going to Milan. La Scala.”

“For less than a half season,” said Morgana, “that's not the end of the world.”

“No,” Arthur agreed, so as to correct Morgana's misapprehensions about him being unable to cope. “It isn't. Pity though that he wasn't the one to tell me he'd be going. Or that he hasn't called me once since we last talked.”

“He'll open up when he stops worrying about his job,” Morgana said condescendingly, as if she knew Merlin at all. “You'll see.”

“Yeah, I can see how this is going to end well,” Arthur said, cocking his head derisively at Morgana. “A long distance relationship with someone who's not even talking to me.”

“He'll start talking to you again,” said Morgana, sounding more assured of the outcome than she had any right to be. This alone is maddening because Arthur doesn't want to be fed any false hopes. “Don't worry.”

“How do you know that?” Arthur asked, seeing the hole in her theory and pointing it out in as steady voice as he can manage. “You don't know him that well. You can't know how he'll react.”

“I know that you had a secret relationship with him,” said Morgana, her eyebrows going back down as her facial muscles relaxed. “You're not the type to go through all that fuss that a relationship like that entails if it wasn't important.”

“That accounts for me, not Merlin.”

“You and your debunking.” Morgana sniffs, crossing her arms. “I won't be persuaded by your pseudo, self-deprecating rationality. I can't believe Merlin wasn't feeling the same as you,” Morgana added, more deadpan, brow crinkling in thought again.

Arthur leant forward on his armchair, hands joined. “Wow, that's flattering, Morgana. You think I'm that special that if I feel something, then he must too?”

“So you're admitting you feel something for him?”

Arthur sank back against his armchair. “No, just poking holes in your theories.”

“Arthur--” Morgana's eyes narrowed like a cat's that had got some naughty plans to steal the food from the cupboard.

Arthur rose sharply, walking across the carpet towards Morgana's armoire. “I hear you bought some interesting vinyl recordings the other week.”

Morgana swivelled in the arm-chair, her body pivoting to follow his. “Oh, no, you're not getting away with that.”

Arthur opened the cupboard door and started picking up records, making his eyes zero in on the labels. “We'll either talk about this or not at all,” he said briskly, perhaps more so than he'd wished.

Morgana let out a loud sigh. “Arthur.”

“I mean it, Morgana,” Arthur said, putting the records down on the shelf they belonged to and squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“Arthur.”

“Please, Morgana,” Arthur said, eyes slipping closed.

“You will probably love the Chicago Symphony Orchestra's _Scheherazade_ conducted by Reiner,” she said. 

“You're right,” Arthur said waltzing over to the turntable, whose lid he lifted. “I'm curious to hear what quality it is.”

He placed the old record on the rubber surface, flipped the on switch and placed the needle on the recording. Rimsky Korsakoff's music filled the air.

As Merlin exited from the backstage door, sleet pelted him from all sides, his upturned collar useless against the cold. The sky up ahead churned with clouds that shone dark against the velvety blue of the night. No stars were in sight, but with how overcast it was it was no wonder.

Under these unpalatable weather conditions, Merlin made it to the main thoroughfare coasting the Scala and for the taxi stand. The storm seemed to have driven the entire concert audience to the same place, and Merlin could only stand there and wait, one arm wrapped around his middle for warmth, his head ducked against the chill.

He stood there for the better part of an hour watching elegantly-clad couples climb into one taxi after another. The boredom was somewhat relieved when someone who'd been present at the concert recognised him. That though, while flattering, wasn't as pleasant an experience as it might otherwise have been because he was obliged to sign a few rain-soaked programmes with numb fingers.

Fortunately, before his fingers could quite fall off, he managed to nab a taxi.

“Horrible weather,” said the driver, first in Italian and then, when he noticed Merlin's more than stuttering attempts at the language, in English.

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed. “And here I thought that wintering in Italy would save me from the cold.”

“You got away from having to deal with the fog, at least,” the driver said. “If you'd come here some thirty years ago, you wouldn't have been able to see what stood in front of your nose.”

Merlin smiled even though his face was a bit on the frozen side. “Then I'm glad I got here when I did.”

"You work here, then?" the driver asked, his amiable tone at odds with the frankly mental manoeuvres he pulled in an attempt to get ahead of the other cars.

“Yeah, for a while at least,” said Merlin.

As he idled at the traffic light, the driver looked into the rear-view mirror and asked, “So it's for a job. If you don't mind me asking, what do you do?”

Merlin lifted his violin case. “I'm a violinist. Playing at La Scala Theatre for a few months.”

The driver whistled. “La Scala, not bad, not bad.”

Merlin valiantly tried to keep the smile on his face. “Well, I fucked up the job I really wanted,” he said, not knowing why he was sharing these private facts with a person he didn't know at all and wouldn't see again, “but Milan came to the rescue and it's...” Merlin sighed. “Just as well, I suppose.”

Cab trundling along the Castello area, the driver chatted on. “There's something else as well bringing you down though, I can tell. Matters of the heart?”

Merlin's hands curled on his thigh. “I guess so,” Merlin said. “Yeah, I... broke up with someone I liked a lot. Hell, it was the most important relationship I ever had.” Merlin sighed and leant his forehead against the cool window. “Though coming here wasn't a mistake.” It couldn't have been. He'd made the right decision. “I suppose putting some distance between me and the person I was with is a good idea.”

“Sometimes it is,” the driver said rather cryptically. “Sometimes it isn't.”

Merlin would have probably told the guy that his remark wasn't very helpful, but the hotel came up and Merlin could do nothing but pay the fare and thank the man for the chat.

“Any time,” the man said.

Merlin made a beeline for his hotel room, ignoring the receptionist motioning him over. He was cold and tired. He wanted nothing better than to face plant into the mattress. Whatever the receptionist wanted with him it could wait.

Once he'd changed and put himself to bed, Merlin found that falling asleep was too difficult. The bed was cold with crisp, newly changed linens that were so pristine they couldn't even seem to retain body heat. The room was too silent and the sound of traffic seemed to Merlin like a reminder that the people out and about were leading a better life than he was.

Merlin sat up in bed and turned the light on. He glared at the mobile he'd left on the night-stand for about two minutes before he raked up the courage to dial Elena's number.

Though it was past one o'clock Elena was still awake, as her perky, “Hello!” showed. Sometimes that small one hour difference between the Italian and English time zones was really handy.

“Hi, Ellie,” Merlin said, “I hope I didn't catch you at a busy time.”

“No,” Elena said, the noises around her dying down, “I was watching telly, but, there now, I switched it off.”

“You didn't have to,” Merlin said, feeling a bit guilty about interrupting Elena's pastime. “I can call you tomorrow.”

“Merlin,” said Elena in a reproachful tone. “I'm not about to hang up on you when you're feeling lonely to watch repeats of The Inbetweeners.”

Merlin's eyebrow lifted. “Who says I'm lonely?”

“It's midnight and you're calling me sounding small and sad,” said Elena. “That's the grounds of my diagnosis.”

“Mmm.” Merlin grunted into the phone. “I just... I miss you.”

“Say rather that you miss Arthur.”

Merlin focused his gaze on the white mound of duvet covering his legs. “I'm the one who decided to call it quits.”

“Yeah,” said Elena, “I know that and I'm of the same opinion I was last time. On a certain level I agree with that you acted right.”

Merlin snorted loudly enough for Elena to hear. “Only on a certain level?”

“I agree with the part where you feel he should have told you,” said Elena, putting on her serious voice. “I do not agree with the part where you say you're not going to give him another chance to work it out.”

“I never said that!” Merlin pointed out.

“But you're not talking to him!”

“I'm in Milan,” Merlin protested, patting the bed for physical proof.

Elena tutted. “Yeah, because it's not like you're talking to me.”

Merlin kicked off the duvet and walked over to the window. From the eight floor, the pavement and the people still roaming the streets looked tiny. “It's just that I liked him lots.”

“All the more reason to get in touch again.”

“And I'd be so disappointed—” Merlin felt that word was a bit inadequate but he didn't want to go with 'totally heartbroken and a complete mess', “if we tried it and it went south again.”

“Merlin,” said Elena, sounding put upon even though Merlin was fairly sure she was munching on one of those bags of crisps she kept stashed away in case of long, depleting conversations about Merlin's love life and his related refusal to get back on the relationship horse, “you won't know till you try.”

“I know.”

“So why don't you call?”

“Because honesty is so important, Ellie,” Merlin said, sitting in the window alcove and pulling on the curtains so he was firmly cocooned in them. “What sort of relationship was I having if he thought he'd have to hide the truth from me and make it look like things were rosier than they were?”

“That was a shit thing to do,” said Elena, her munching more pronounced. “But now he knows you won't accept that, so I think that you're on better ground than you were. Plus, you're really not that happy with the choice you made. If I were you, I'd give Arthur another try. If it doesn't work then it doesn't work. What have you got to lose?”

Merlin privately thought that he would have a lot to lose. He liked Arthur. He admired his talent, his capacity to work hard, the music he created, how he was in bed and out of it. He loved most aspects of his personality, minus the arrogance he'd initially displayed. But that had gone the moment Merlin had started to know Arthur better. Before the break up Merlin had been in danger of falling very deeply for him. He was now afraid that if he gave Arthur another go and things didn't pan out he'd never manage to forget Arthur or put him behind him. That would be devastating. Rather than admit it, he said, “Come here for the weekend. I promise I have only one concert and then we can sightsee together. I haven't done it much on my own.”

“Merlin, I have a job,” said Elena. 

A note of eagerness to her voice made Merlin say, “Swap shifts. I'm sure you can find someone who will take a few of yours in return for the same. Only for the weekend? Come on, you know you want to.”

Elena hummed but then said, “Okay, I'll ask my pals at work and I'll try to. But I can't promise anything right now.”

Merlin smiled against the phone. “I'll be waiting for you.”

When he rolled back into bed after he'd hung up, Merlin was wearing a smile.

Arthur was studying the programme for next week, when Mr Cador's secretary poked her head in. “Mr Pendragon,” she said, “I have the guest list for the Christmas party. Mr Cador wanted you to give it a once-over in case you wanted to add a few names of your own.”

“Agnes, I thought we were just adding all the musicians who were participating to the Magic of Christmas concert run?”

“Yes,” said Agnes, “but Mr Cador thought it would be better if we added the names of all the Charity representatives we're doing the concerts for and... Well, the board doesn't want to have to decide and they thought...”

“That I was the right idiot who'd take responsibility for choosing who to leave out?”

Agnes winced. “I'm sure they also thought you were the one with the most tact to compile the list.”

Arthur wanted to say, 'Tact my arse,” but since he was in polite company he only scoffed instead. 

“Can I leave these papers with you then?” she said, lifting the bunch to show him what it was he'd have to tackle.

Making a sweeping gesture, Arthur said, “Of course, there's plenty of space.”

Agnes left the papers on his desk. Before going she said, “If I were you I'd just approve everyone. Makes the task easier.”

“I'll keep it in mind,” said Arthur, picking up the first sheet.

As Arthur started going over the list of suggestions, Agnes left. The list the Artistic Director and the board had passed over to him contained a series of names Arthur had known he would find there. Whoever had guest played for the RPO was cited, as were patrons of the arts, a few celebs who had nothing to do with the world of classical music but who would get more benefactors to donate for their cancer charity, and all the people who had made the Christmas Run possible, from the narrator down to the costume designer.

Arthur's thumb swept over Merlin's name and indulged in it for a whole minute – memories of Merlin surfacing as if the component parts of his surname were somehow evocative of him – before he moved on with the rest of the list.

He was of half a mind to follow Agnes' advice but for expunging a few celebs who would thank him for being spared an earful of classical music, when his eye happened on Edwin Muirden's name, written boldly in block letters.

A stab of perhaps petty vindictiveness washed over him. Without hesitation, Arthur picked up his red marker and crossed the name out. He breathed out and moved on to the next name, but the glaring presence of the preceding one stopped him.

He sank back in his chair. He drummed his fingers on his desk. He did the same with his pencil. When he'd deleted Muirden's name Arthur had thought he'd feel avenged and ready to move on, put this whole incident behind him. But he wasn't. He'd lost Merlin. He accepted that. But he couldn't forgive Muirden's actions. Anger still simmered through him. Unable to take this any longer, he snatched up the guest list and barged into Mr Cador's office.

“You have Edwin Muirden on the list,” he said brandishing said list aloft.

“Knocking is considered a common form of courtesy,” Mr Cador said, pulling up the glasses that had slipped down the bridge on his nose. 

“And ordinarily I would have,” said Arthur, not feeling particularly sorry. “But I'm quite beyond that today.”

“And why is that, may I ask?” Mr Cador looked up at him from under the shield of his spectacles.

“Because Edwin Muirden is on the list.”

Mr Cador laughed and picked the pen he'd dropped back up. “Of course he is. He played for us this year.”

Arthur stalked over to Mr Cador's desk, slapped the guest list on it, and pointed. “And he shouldn't be.”

“Again, I'm asking why you are so dead set against this man being present?” Mr Cador said, eyeing Arthur warily. “If it's about the catering costs, I think we can well afford him.”

“It's not because of that,” said Arthur, tapping furiously at the guest list. “He's the one who blackmailed me. The photos came from him.”

“Can you prove that?”

Arthur tried not to explode. Only out of love for the RPO as an institution did he say calmly, “I can prove he visited my office after Merlin's successes. People saw him leaving.” 

Mr Cador palmed his forehead while shaking his head. “That's no proof of the blackmail itself, and the man is highly respected in the musical community. Without proof we can't slight him. We can't leave him out.”

This was preposterous and Arthur wanted to make sure he'd have his say. “You mean to say that my word has no value? That Muirden threatening me and worse, Merlin, and the turning up of those photos are unrelated circumstances?”

Mr Cador pinched the bridge of his nose. “Arthur, I'm not saying that. I know the art world isn't as lofty as we sometimes make it out to be. Ballet dancers can be psychos, opera singers divas, and solo violinists display bouts of erratic behaviour, especially when they feel someone younger has upstaged them--”

Arthur snorted. How could Mr Cador take this so lightly when one of his employees had been subjected to blackmail? It made no sense. Arthur might have been in the wrong keeping things – albeit his private life – from the directors. But now Arthur wondered if his loyalty to the RPO had been misplaced. Perhaps Uther hadn't been so wrong after all... Rage shoved the thoughts aside, and Arthur focused his bitterness on Cador. “That isn't just erratic behaviour and you know it!”

Mr Cador's mouth thinned. “Again, in the absence of any proof, I can't confront him or publicly accuse him.” Cador tried to smile then. “Come on, Arthur, it's just a Christmas party we give to ingratiate concert goers and thank those of the staff that have worked hard throughout the year. You can easily avoid him.”

“Yes, but,” said Arthur, hoping Muirden wouldn't get the networking opportunities he otherwise might if barred from the gala, “he shouldn't be given that honour.”

“Don't worry, Arthur,” said Mr Cador, “if he continues to behave as you say he has, he'll sink his own career in time. Rise above it.”

Arthur grunted, turned around, hands on his hips, looking down. “It's not so easy.”

“I realise,” said Mr Cador more gently. “But you should let it go. We must keep up appearances. These events are designed for that and you know it. It doesn't mean anything.”

Arthur turned around to reply but only an awkward noise came out of his mouth. If he said more he would only be through with the RPO and before making such a big decision he wanted to cool his heels and think about it. This place had been his staple for years.

“Why don't you concentrate on a guest you like more?” Mr Cador said with a clear note of encouragement.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mr Emrys is still on the list,” said Cador, handing it back to Arthur. “There's a chance he might come.”

“He's in Milan,” Arthur told him. Morgana had teased him on the subject enough to have made of that an automated response. Even hoping Merlin would come, that they could talk and maybe clear matters up, was too painful. If he let that hope light up his chest, and if it didn't come true, then he didn't think he could hold on to the façade for long. Looking as though his world hadn't turned upside down would be impossible then. Everybody would see and then where would he be? Not somewhere he liked to contemplate. “He's not likely to come.”

“I know where he is,” said Mr Cador, tilting his head at his computer screen. “I also happen to know that he's engaged till the eighth of December. Our party is on the twelfth. He'll come.”

Arthur tried his very best to quash that hope.

Merlin walked down the cool nave of Milan Cathedral, pews on either side of him, looking up at the tall striated columns and the play of coloured light that shone through the stained glass window. It suffused the altar with light.

“It's amazing how the light shines through even on a dull day like this,” Merlin murmured to Elena.

Elena's mouth had dropped to the floor. “Yup,” she said, smiling appreciatively at the beauty of the church's Gothic lines. “Yuppers.”

“Come on,” Merlin said, elbowing her, “take a snap. I know you want to and everybody else is doing it.”

As a matter of fact, though it was a Sunday afternoon, none of the people collected in this part of the Cathedral looked like they were there to pray. Most were tourists just like Merlin and Elena, and a good percentage of them was taking photos, either with proper cameras that came with tripods and zooms or with their mobiles, even though signs expressly forbade it.

A priest was talking to the alms collector Merlin had met by the door, but he didn't seem to mind the goings on either. He merely gesticulated slowly to his interlocutor, his voice soft as if cast in prayer.

“Oh, okay, why not,” Elena said, pointing her camera, by no means a professional one, towards the high altar. “If I just knew how to zoom on this bloody thing.”

Someone snorted in the background, which almost made Merlin do the same.

“Come on, give,” he said, tugging on Elena's arm. “I'll tweak the settings for you.”

Before she could hand it over, Merlin's mobile went off; thankfully, it was only buzzing. “I'll have to get this,” he told Elena, thinking it was work.

“Okay,” Elena said, pointing her camera back towards the altar and the rose window above it.

In order to pick up the call before the buzzing died, Merlin raced all the way down the nave and out onto the Cathedral's steps. Winded, he pushed the green button without checking who the caller was. “Hello.”

“Hello, Merlin.” 

Merlin frowned, unable to place the voice. “Er, hi, who's this?”

A giggle, and one that seemed rather derisive in spirit, hit Merlin's ear. “Of course, I should have said that first, shouldn't I? This is Morgana, I'm--”

Merlin said, “Arthur's sister, I know. Has something happened to him?”

“Oh, this is so very touching,” said Morgana, her tone not changing one whit. It boded well for Arthur's health. “I should really tell him that the first thing you said to me was an enquiry after his well-being.”

“Morgana,” Merlin said, reprimanding her levity. "Did you call me, and might I mention that I'm in Italy, to take the mickey out of me... or your brother, or whoever you're taking the mickey out of?”

Morgana laughed. “No, I didn't.”

Impatience got the better of him. “Then why did you call? I was sightseeing with a friend.”

Morgana didn't address that directly. “Did you get an invitation for the RPO Christmas party?”

“Yeah,” said Merlin, wondering why Morgana cared. “It was sent on to me. My hotel receptionist has it. But I'm not--”

“Oh no, believe me,” Morgana said, brooking no objection, “you're going.”

“Morgana, should I remind you that these are the people who sacked me, or rather failed to hire me because they thought I was crooked?”

“These are trifles,” Morgana said, dismissing them. “You are going because you'll be breaking my brother's heart if you don't.”

Merlin's mouth went dry instantly. “I'm sorry but how do you... How can you know that? He didn't... He accepted...”

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Morgana said, less prim than she'd ever sounded. “I know because he's my brother and he may not be very demonstrative but I know he loves you, so, unless you're dead set against him for some unfathomable reason, I suggest you go.”

“I, er, um.” Merlin couldn't be any clearer than that. 

“Well, I'll leave you with that thought.” Morgana hung up on him.

Merlin stared at his phone with a mixture of hope and wariness. His hackles were still up from Morgana's bullying tactics, yet what she had said, unbelievable as it was, lit up something warm in his chest. Despite what Arthur had done, Merlin couldn't maintain even a shred of indifference, especially after hearing what Morgana had to say.

Merlin paced the length of the Cathedral's steps, jostled by the people trying to get in and out of the church. He looked back to it, thinking he'd dumped Elena alone in there long enough, passed a hand before his mouth. He paced some more. At last he took his courage in two hands and dialled Arthur.

Arthur answered on the third ring. “Merlin.”

“Hi, hello, hi, Arthur,” Merlin started toing and froing again, pulling on his earlobe as he talked. “I'm in Milan.”

“I know,” Arthur said. “Congratulations on the job. I hear you're... you're doing great.”

“Not bad,” Merlin said, facing about again and almost running into an old gentleman who was opening an umbrella against the lightest of drizzles. “I mean, one step at a time, right?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, his voice sounding more distant and then nearer again, making Merlin think he'd changed position. “That's how you go about it. Though... I'm sure you're going to do well regardless of your strategy in taking up jobs. You're too good not to.”

Merlin really didn't want to talk about his job. “I missed you, you know.”

Arthur breathed out. “Yeah, me too.”

“I...” Merlin couldn't tell Arthur Morgana had called. Arthur had his pride and Merlin didn't want to hurt it. But that also meant he couldn't ask him whether Morgana had got it right. “I'd love to talk.”

“Talk?” Arthur answered. There was a noise as though he'd gulped but then Arthur's voice rang out, sounding more energetic than before. “You mean in person?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, urging the words out before he could rethink them, “I want to talk about what happened between us and where things go from now on...” Merlin scratched at his cheek way too hard, his nerves making him rough. “Not that I'm assuming you're waiting for me to--”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice so gravelly Merlin expected him to say that he'd moved on and he didn't even want to be friends anymore, “I want things to go places.”

“Arthur,” said Merlin, sure that just the way he was calling Arthur's name would give away too much and set him up for a world of hurt. “I'm sorry... about everything.”

“You were right,” Arthur stopped him from taking the blame for how things had gone. “I was brought up the old-fashioned way. And I make it a matter of pride to protect the people I love.”

Merlin's heart doubled its speed.

“But then I did it in the worst possible way,” Arthur said. “I respect you and your opinion and I didn't show that at all. I'm sorry.”

Merlin's mobile battery alerted Merlin to its dying status. Crap, not now! Not just when he and Arthur were talking. Merlin's heart drained of all blood, pushing it to his head and to the surface of his skin. “Arthur, my phone's dying but I wanted to say... Maybe we can see each other at the RPO's party and...” The line died or rather his mobile did. Merlin hoped Arthur had heard though.

He stared at his phone with a mixture of rage aimed at its failing to do its job and longing for Arthur. Then Elena came up to him. “Oi,” she said, hooking her arm around his, “you left me hanging.”

“Sorry,” Merlin said, pocketing his phone. “I'll make it up to you. I'm taking you out to eat.”

Arthur popped a puff pastry in his mouth to avert drunkenness. Even though his hopes of seeing Merlin put in an appearance had dwindled over the course of the party, Arthur still didn't want to get soused. The last thing he wanted was for Merlin to come, see him sloshed, and get disgusted with him.

The pastry was salmon filled and not exactly to his taste. Arthur hated the combination of cheese and salmon that was typical of such concoctions. But noshing was better than staring at the tinsel wreaths adorning the main hall at Cadogan, at the starlets taking photos with members of the board, and better than taking in the obnoxious sight of Muirden hobnobbing with both of the above. 

The only positive tonight had come from his orchestra members; they'd all been very nice to him. Freya had had a hand-made present for him, Gilli had shielded him from Muirden's smirks when he'd noticed that the man was dead set on taunting Arthur, and Myror had been so talkative he'd taken Arthur's mind off Merlin for a while.

There were other pluses as well. Morgana hadn't yet turned up.

All in all it wasn't so bad. Except he kept looking to the entrance every five minutes. He paid even less attention to the goings on than he normally would have when when at an event. 

He mostly ignored the Music and Artistic Directors giving speeches from the dais they'd erected for the purpose, wreathed by a background of fairy lights or the appearance of pro photographers wanting to nab photos of the orchestra members with the guests.

The rest of the time Arthur's eyes were trained towards the door. 

It figured though that the moment he turned towards the buffet table everyone else should fix their eyes on the door. In unison. For a moment Arthur hoped it would be Merlin; that it would be him passing the doors of the party hall. 

But it wasn't. The entourage of camera-wielding photographers turned to flash their cameras at the new comer. But it was only Morgana. 

Granted, she looked good in that self-assured way she was a master of, displaying the kind of glamour she had down pat. Followed by an entourage of minions, she half sashayed, half stalked into the a room she had in a tizzy by walking in it.

In short Morgana had presence; she commanded attention and not only by virtue of her looks.

Pity that she wasn't Merlin. 

After mugging for a bit, allowing photographers to take snaps of her, Morgana made a beeline for Arthur. The moment he saw that, Arthur grabbed a champagne glass from a salver.

“Arthur,” she said, air-kissing his cheek. “How are you on this fine eve?”

“Ha, ha, Morgana,” Arthur said, throwing back his glassful, “have you finished posing for the camera, giving yourself airs?”

“Yes,” Morgana told him, her hand going to Arthur's wrist so he'd lower the glass. “I had my fun.”

“So now you've come to have some more fun yanking my chain?”

Morgana frowned. “So bitter, Arthur. And why's that? What would your woes be tonight?”

“Who says I suffer from any woes?” Arthur said, resisting the pressure of Morgana's wrist as he tried to get a sip of his drink. 

“Your face,” Morgana said. “You're sporting more of a trout pout than Meg Ryan and Victoria Beckham put together.”

“Ha, bloody, ha!” Arthur won the tug of war and put his drink down in one gulp.

He was glaring at Morgana when a swift one liner interrupted his eye-balling of his sister. “If I'd known you'd arm wrestle with Morgana for a drink I'd have coerced the waiter into turning this way with his salver.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said. When he clapped eyes on Merlin his world stopped spinning and all his blood rushed to his heart, making him dizzy. He wished he could take the man's hand or pull him into a hug, but resisted the instinct because he didn't know where they stood. Seeing him was good, though. It hurt, but it was good.

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Nice to see that you could make it, Merlin,” she said. Turning to Arthur, she added, “I suppose I should leave you two alone. At least before you murder me for hijacking your beloved.”

“I--” Arthur stuttered. 

Merlin went beet red.

“Yes, whatever. I see Elyan over there,” said Morgana, gathering her shawl around her. “I'll go and talk to him.”

Now that Morgana couldn't overhear something that was private, Arthur said, “I didn't dare hope hope you'd turn up.”

“I tried to tell you on the phone,” Merlin said, making big eyes at him. "But my battery died. I--”

“No, I heard that.” Arthur closed his hand around Merlin's arm without thinking. “I was just... I thought you'd maybe changed your mind. It wouldn't have surprised me at all.”

“I told you I wanted to speak to you.”

Arthur nodded his head. “I know, but... I frankly thought it wouldn't last. You wanting to see me. I know I messed up.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, grimacing, “but to be honest it wasn't on you. It was Edwin Muirden who did me an evil turn not you...”

“Let’s talk somewhere else,” Arthur said, unable to forget they were still in public. “Somewhere private.”

Thinking no other place could be more secluded, Arthur led Merlin up the clock tower, stopping when he reached the floor where the double lancet window was. Inhaling the frosty night air, he leant against it, then turned to Merlin, expectant.

“So,” Merlin said. “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” Arthur agreed, sticking to inanities because he didn't have the heart to steer the conversation where he wanted it go in case Merlin wasn't ready to tackle it yet.

“It's good,” Merlin said, apropos of nothing Arthur had said, taking a step closer. Imitating Arthur, he leant against the mullioned window. “Seeing you again. And... you look good.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Don't give me hope if there's none.”

Arthur heard Merlin breathe the night air in. “You know, those weeks apart did me good. Made me consider things.”

Arthur's heart beat like the wings of a butterfly, a flurry of movement that seemed to span a lifetime but was only a second. “Reconsider things?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said with a sigh. “I haven't changed my mind on the sincerity issue.”

“I'll never lie again, not by omission and not--”

Merlin sneaked closer still, his hand on Arthur's mouth. He wanted to kiss the back of Merlin's fingers, but he held back and let Merlin talk. “Arthur, I've had time to acknowledge that I had my fair share of responsibility in going for the secret relationship that did my career in. That was my choice too and my mistake. I've also had ample time to miss you and what we had. I miss playing your music and lying in bed with you.”

Arthur mumbled against Merlin's fingers. “And the music is coming before the bedding part in this scenario?”

“Shut up, you idiot,” Merlin said, dropping his hand and pressing lips instead of fingers against Arthur's mouth. Slowly, he dragged his lips across Arthur's, rubbing and sucking softly on them, the kiss staying shallow but taking Arthur's breath away all the same. “What I wanted to say is that I miss the whole of you and not just the sexual relationship.”

“Okay,” Arthur said, understanding where the sap was coming from, and feeling sappy enough himself to say, “I feel the same.”

Merlin looked back at him through half-lidded eyes. “Good, so this is step one. Step two is...”

“You want ground rules?” Arthur hurried to say. “Because I can promise--”

“I just want to talk so we know where we stand and that we're a good thing, together,” said Merlin, looking into Arthur’s eyes, the blue of his scarcely visible in the dark. The faint light made Merlin look fairly mysterious, and a bit magic, like a creature from Arthur's own whimsical composition.  
   
“Okay,” Arthur said, taking Merlin's lips for a slow and exploratory kiss,  “we're talking now.”  
   
Merlin chuckled, not telling Arthur off for not doing what he said he would. In fact he didn't appear discomfited at their not talking in the least. Actually he started to relax, smiling into the kiss while Arthur held his gaze. “And kissing,” he said, his lips quirking around Arthur's.

As the minutes passed, they kissed some more as well as discussed some of the problems that had brought them where they were. They decided that they would take things slowly, maybe date each other, promising to go easy on each other and forgive the past. “We should just, you know, open up about what's on our minds.”

“I'm not big on opening up,” Arthur admitted.

“Neither am I,” Merlin whispered in his ear. “I like my shields too. I'm not saying we should talk _all the time_ about our feelings. But when it matters. Like the Edwin thing, all right?”

Wishing for nothing better, Arthur said, “All right.”

Even though he liked the solitude their chosen spot provided them, Arthur knew that they couldn't keep apart from the others all night. He knew it was too early to initiate another attempt at a relationship that saw the two of them exclusively in each other's company twenty-four seven. 

They needed to be more open to the outside world and have friends, enjoy social occasions as well as have time to hide together as they'd done the first time around. That and the fact he was starting to feel cold in his dinner jacket only, pushed Arthur to suggest they go back to the party downstairs. 

“Yeah,” Merlin said, stepping away from Arthur. “You're right. It's chilly here.”

When Arthur and Merlin went back downstairs the party was in full swing. Morgana was holding court over some of her friends, among whom were Taliesin and his new young beau. 

The band they'd hired for the occasion was playing modern tunes to divert an audience that was used to classical. 

As for the guests they were all chattering animatedly and looked to be in high spirits.

Gravitating towards someone they knew Merlin and Arthur became part of Elyan's group by osmosis. Merlin was deep in conversation with Enid, Elyan's date, when Edwin Muirden of all people came up to him, holding two glasses.

To get Merlin's attention he cleared his throat. “Mr Emrys,” he said.

Merlin, who hadn't understood who was talking to him, turned around. When he realised it was Muirden who'd spoken, Merlin scowled. “Mr Muirden,” he said, making as if to turn towards Enid.  
   
“I've come up to you,” Muirden continued, ignoring Arthur and making it impossible for Merlin to do the same to him, “to say that I admire your work. Even though I regrettably acted in a less than wise manner when I first learnt of your success. I apologise for my past behaviour.”

Merlin's mouth fell open. There was a speculative crease on his brow, but his eyes were lit up, mellowing his expression. Arthur thought that meant Merlin wanted to forgive Muirden. It was true that Merlin hadn't been there for the actual blackmail incident, so he had less to be hung up upon, but damn it, Merlin had lost a job he wanted because of Muirden. Arthur wanted Merlin to think long and hard before he forgave the dickhead. “Merlin,” he said, in an attempt to make Merlin see reason.

But Merlin wasn't listening to him, rather to Muirden's elaborate apology.

“My life is my music,” Muirden said, his cheek twitching, the twitching pulling at his lip. “When I realised that you were triumphing when I should have... I got blinded by base feelings.” Muirden extended one of the glasses he was holding out to Merlin. “And for this, I'm very sorry. Please accept this as a token of my renewed goodwill towards you.”

“Merlin,” said Arthur, feeling there was something wrong about Muirden's sudden 180. “You don't have to. Just because forgiving is generally a good thing, it doesn't follow you have to do it now.”

This time Muirden turned to him. “I understand why you would see it like that, Maestro. But truly, this is coming from the bottom of my heart.”

While Arthur tried to counter that, Merlin wrapped his fingers around the stem of the glass. As the glass was shaken the champagne in it bubbled conspicuously.

Something niggled at the back of Arthur's mind but he didn't do anything. He couldn't tell Muirden to fuck off in public. A scene would be associated with Merlin and could very well damage his career. What had so far transpired had just been between them. If Arthur intervened then he would get the other guests' attention, blending new rumours with the old. Besides, if Merlin wanted to bury the hatchet then who was Arthur to stop him.

Merlin had been adamant about Arthur treating him like an adult and Arthur was damned if he didn't do his best to respect that and preserve their relationship.

Still there was something clearly wrong about Muirden's sudden coming round. Nothing good would come of it, Arthur was sure. Call it a sixth sense.

To drown his worry, Arthur decided to hail a waiter and get a drink.

So summoned, the waiter moved over, hurrying when he recognised Arthur's impatience.

Just as Merlin was about to bring the glass to his lips, Arthur's waiter stumbled right into him. Nimble on his feet, the waiter salvaged his tray, ending up with only a glass upended, its contents spilling on the tray.

But Merlin, who wasn't as agile, dropped his glass.

It didn't shatter, as though it wasn't made of glass at all, but something else, something made to withstand similar bad handling. But when the liquid touched the tiles the material started sizzling and burning, driving a hole in them. The hole wasn't very deep but if that had been Merlin's oesophagus, Merlin would be dead now.

“Oh my God,” Enid shouted, her hands going to her cheeks, “that was acid.”

“The glass was specially made to contain it!” Elyan pitched in, sounding equally horrified.

Arthur made a grab for Muirden, or rather, a flying limb, the hem of his jacket, anything to stop him from doing a runner, but Muirden elbowed him hard in the stomach and fled, scattering all the guests who ran into him. 

Elyan called out, “Call the police,” and many a hand made a dive for many a pocket.

Merlin kept staring at the hole that could have been lining his stomach if the waiter hadn't stumbled.

When the police returned with a handcuffed Muirden – they'd found him trying to access the tube in Sloane Square – for Merlin to recognise, Merlin punched Muirden right in the face. “Yeah,” he said, cradling his fist. “That's the man who tried to kill me.”

“Very good, sir,” said the policeman, “we'll need your statements and witnesses'.” The policeman passed the handling of Muirden onto his colleague. “By the way,” he added, winking at Merlin, “we'll act as though we didn't see that punch landing.”

Arthur probably shouldn't have, given the circumstances, but he smiled proudly at Merlin. When Merlin had stopped blowing on his knuckles, Arthur put a hand on Merlin's shoulder and said, “Well done. If you hadn't, I would have.”

Merlin's eyes crinkled. “Sorry of depriving you of the pleasure.”

Arthur's chest expanded with relief at this new proof of Merlin being fine, that this ordeal he'd barely had had time to come to grips with was over. A wave of affection prompted by Merlin's expression worked its way through him and mingled with the relief. The waxing emotion scalded the tip of his ears so he had to cough into his fist to dissemble the onslaught. “I'll have to deal, I suppose.” Then shepherding Merlin towards the exit, unable to quite stop touching him to reassure himself of his continued well being, he added, “Let me take you home.”

Merlin adjusted, breathed deeply. He tried not to think about the Music Director or the Artistic Director waiting for him to fuck up the moment he marched into the auditorium. He tried not to think of the other violinists, who'd marched out of it bearing a big smile on their faces, big smiles likely signifying they'd been awarded the job Merlin wanted.

He tried not to think of anything much because a lot rested on this audition and he couldn't let his nerves ruin it all. Yet his nerves were having a field day with his body's responses. He had gone all lax and soft as if he was about to liquefy and his remains were about to seep through the cracks in the floor.

Calm, he needed to remain calm. If Merlin wanted to get this job, he needed to pour his heart out on stage and give his best performance. In terms of training, technique, and knowledge of his instrument Merlin knew he was good. Just as he knew that his nerves might do him in. Or that the difference between him and any other violinist on the planet was that Merlin sometimes, when he really was into the zone, could be transcend himself and be the melody. Only he had to be calm enough to get into that zone and make the music speak for him.

“Good luck,” one of the rival violinists also waiting in the anteroom told him. 

Merlin smiled feebly, perfectly aware of the fact there was little warmth to his attempt. His head and body weren't communicating properly this morning and though he wanted to be nice and polite his facial muscles couldn't quite rise to the challenge in the shape of a smile. “Thank you,” he said, swallowing tightly as he waited for his name to be called and wondering why it wasn't.

“Please, please,” he muttered to himself the moment nobody was left paying attention to him; that is when he was the last one left who still had to audition. “Please, make it happen.” He really wanted this. 

While his professional life didn't hinge on this job it would be one step in the right direction. He couldn't actually ask better than to be made violin leader. But because this position was one step ahead of anything he'd tried so far, this audition felt as though it was more nerve-wracking than any other he'd gone through. 

Maybe he'd over-stepped the mark. He should have tried for something simpler. A job like the one he had in Milan.

A bead of sweat meandered down Merlin's chest, making his shirt stick to it. He hoped it wouldn't show. That the lights on stage would blind the panel of people judging him to the state he was in. 

They wouldn't notice though, would they? Because if they did, they'd take him for a fool and then he'd have to vie for a job abroad. If they noticed he'd have to make sure he sounded ten times more competent to make up for how stupid and nerve-wracked he looked. The panel may very well think he was nervous because he wasn't competent.

He had to give off an assured vibe. No pressure.

As these thoughts revolved in Merlin's brain, the back door to the auditorium slipped open with a click and Arthur slipped inside. He gestured for Merlin to come up to him, so Merlin went. “Is it my turn yet?” he asked.

Arthur shook his head. “They're still discussing Mr Roland, but you'll be right next.”

Merlin hugged himself. “Oh, okay.”

Arthur kissed him. “You'll take them by storm,” he said, putting another swift kiss to his mouth between one word and the next. “They didn't hire you the first time around because of bloody murderous Muirden.” Arthur's eyes flashed as they always did when he mentioned Merlin's would-be assassin. “And Muirden can't scheme from behind bars.”

“Yes, that's true, but this time the position I'm auditioning for is that of leader,” said Merlin. “This means that the competition is going to be even stronger than last time. Made up by more seasoned musicians. I don't think I stand a chance.”

“I think you do,” said Arthur, squeezing his shoulders. “The RPO will be proud to have you. And they owe you for thinking badly of you when it wasn't warranted and downplaying Muirden's schemes. And if they don't want you, you can audition elsewhere. The US, Japan, wherever.”

Merlin knew that. Merlin was aware of the variety of jobs he could go for. Especially after he'd done so well in Milan. But Arthur was tied to the RPO for the next three years. And Merlin didn't think their relationship could survive long distance. He'd try. He was ready to fly from one end of the earth to the other bi-monthly if that was what was needed, and Arthur knew it, but it still would be a big challenge. “Yeah, but that scuppers us.”

Arthur hugged him, his mouth close to Merlin's ear when he said, “No, it won't. Because I can resign and follow you around for a while if that's the case. I don't think I owe much loyalty to the RPO after the way they treated us. Conductors too are needed pretty much everywhere and the pay will be as good if not better.” Arthur shrugged. “My father has always pushed for such a move and right now I feel as though it wouldn't be too bad of an idea.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“Yes,” said Arthur, his lips brushing against Merlin's ear. “I love my job but there are so many places I can do it.”

This convinced Merlin even more that Arthur was serious about him. He loved the RPO though less than he had before the board had displayed a certain blindness to Muirden's activities. Even so this knowledge made Merlin even more hopeful about getting that leader position. He didn't want to put Arthur out at all. He didn't want him to move if there was no need to. He wanted Arthur to keep his job and make it all work. No matter where he ended up. If he only could. 

The time to find out whether he had a chance to pull all of this off came soon enough anyway, for someone called 'Next', from within the auditorium.

Arthur gestured him to follow as he shepherded Merlin past the panel to the stairs of the stage before retreating to a seat.

As he scanned the pro audience made up by the board panel Merlin felt his heart tumble all the way down to his toes. These people would be judging him. He reminded himself that it was just like his other audition, the one that had taken place here a few months ago, but knew deep down that wasn't true either. 

That time there'd been only two panel members. This time he thought he counted seven. Much more intimidating. That time he had been unaware of the Muirden fiasco and the suspicion it had cast upon him. This time he was.

To get some moral support he looked for Arthur in the audience. Arthur had promised that even though he wouldn't be on the panel to allow for fair play, he’d be there to listen. Where was he though? Merlin couldn't see him from his standpoint.

Well, there was no time for it now. He had to climb onto the stage. Merlin's knees were less than steady as he took the steps, but he made himself move and get there. When he was on top and positioned to play, he recognised Arthur's smiling face, and thanks to it, his anxiety evaporated. 

Arthur's presence brought him comfort and a morale boost that Merlin was sure would translate to more confidence. Relief and joy poured in Merlin's chest when Arthur made a stupid face and gave him a thumbs-up sign.

More buzzed and eager to perform, Merlin turned to the pianist on stage to accompany him and said, “Borowski's _Adoration_.”

The pianist selected the right score and settled it on the stand. 

Merlin nodded, looked to Arthur again, decided he could and would make him proud (and himself in the bargain) and started playing. 

The music issued forth from the strokes of his bow on the violin cords, the notes soft and swelling with pure emotion, Borowski's lyrical pursuit of God informed the slow rhythms Merlin was playing. The notes wafted in the air. 

The mood of this score resonated deep within him, made him be the music. His fingers were light on the bow, his wrist pliant, the back and forth of it giving rise to the swell of the vibrato. The more he played the more emotions floated deep inside him. He tried to voice them by way of his instrument. The sounds issuing from it filled the auditorium. 

His music sparked and took on a life of its own, like a prayer he was lifting up to the heavens himself. He went through each touching phrase, pursued the tempo till he felt genuinely connected with the moods he thought Borowski intended to suffuse his piece with. 

When the song was about to end he pianist sounded the finishing notes of the accompaniment. And that was when Merlin felt proud of what he'd accomplished. The piece he'd played wasn't a virtuoso one and he might not even get the job but he was just happy he'd had a chance to give the composition a voice, that whatever happened here today, he would always have his music.

This audition put everything into perspective. It made him feel accomplished and happy. Merlin knew that he'd played to the best of his abilities, perhaps not as far as technique went, but insofar as his heart did, then most certainly.

Performance over, the panel members didn't say anything but discussed Merlin in low voices, comparing the notes they'd taken while he played. Since he wasn't engaged in this activity just yet, Mr Cador nodded to Merlin that he could go. After having thanked the panel for giving him a chance to play for them, Merlin repaired to the same waiting room he'd spent the better part of the morning in. 

Merlin had had his chance to impress the board and get a lead seat at the RPO. Now it was time for him to let the afternoon candidates audition. He'd done the best he possibly could and now it was really out of his hands. 

But that didn't mean he was done waiting. He'd have to be patient and do that for a while instead. They wouldn't tell him the results of the audition on the spot. So Merlin sat down and twiddled his thumbs, waiting as patiently as he could.

At around lunchtime, Arthur appeared again.

Merlin shot up. “So?” he asked. He knew that he'd only be given official results in a day or two, but going by the glint of awareness in his eyes, Arthur knew, and Merlin was dying with impatience. 

“They’ve chosen their candidate,” Arthur said, guiding him towards the door that led out of the waiting room and back towards the corridor. Was Arthur doing so because he wanted some privacy to tell him Merlin had failed? Or was it a positive thing? Maybe he wanted privacy to tell Merlin that he had a chance? But he wasn't smiling. So that ruled the good news out, didn't it?

Merlin's stomach took a dive. And to say he'd thought he'd moved past the nervous wreck phase.  
“Do I want to find out?” 

Arthur smiled then. “Come on, you know you did good up there.” Waggling his eyebrows, Arthur elbowed him in the ribs. 

Merlin wrung his hands, then, thinking Arthur was being deliberately secretive on purpose, he punched him on the arm. “Yes, but there's a difference between that and you know...”

“Very eloquent, Merlin.”

Sometimes Merlin wanted to strangle Arthur. Truly. Teasing him about this was just evil. Cruel and unusual punishment; that was what it was. 

“Come on, Arthur, I'm dying here. Stop beating around the bush.” 

Arthur's lips curled upwards and his eyes danced a jig.

Gnawing at his lip, Merlin shifted from foot to foot then again. All the while Arthur took him in from head to toe while displaying a very knowing air. “It’s not official yet. They'll have to e-mail all the participants first.”

Merlin’s heart somersaulted and lodged in his throat. Good thing he hadn’t had a bite of breakfast this morning or Arthur would be at serious risk from projectile vomiting.

Arthur’s eyes acquired a twinkle to them and a grin stretched his lips. “You're our new leader!” 

At Arthur's declaration, Merlin blinked several times, then a rush of simple-minded joy burst though him and he started jumping up and down until he had to stop because he was getting light-headed. The moment he stopped he found himself lacking something, so he flung himself in Arthur's arms. “Oh,” he said, his chest rising and falling against Arthur's. “You don't know how happy I am.” He sniffled. “I-- This is... Oh my god.”

Clapping him on his back, Arthur said, “Yeah, try and get used to it. It's true. You're good. You're bloody marvellous. Everybody knows it and the job is yours!” 

Having Arthur's arms around him sent warm tingles all over Merlin's body. “I can’t really grasp this right now.”

Arthur kissed his nose, his lips, the corner of his mouth. “You deserved this spot. The panel members were really touched by your execution. Mr Cador had tears in his eyes when you went away.”

“That's... That's.” Merlin couldn't find words to express that so he reiterated, “I'm just so glad.”

Arthur kissed Merlin again, more lingeringly this time, his lips softening under the touch of Merlin's. When they parted Arthur licked his lips and said, “Now let’s go celebrate.”

After the celebration, which involved copious amounts of beer, they went to Merlin's flat. Merlin loved that he was now free to do so. Finally, they were able to hang out wherever and whenever they wanted, without needing to be stealthy about it. Not that they hadn't gone to Arthur's previously, but when they'd been hiding their relationship there had always been a measure of caution and circumspection about their visiting each other. Now that it wasn't like that Merlin was perfectly happy.

The moment Merlin opened the door Arthur dragged him up against the wall to kiss him, crowding him against it. His hand came up to Merlin's shoulder, catching it in a deep squeeze that kneaded the muscles intersecting with the bone. 

With Merlin pinned and moaning into Arthur's mouth, Arthur joined their mouths in a kiss. 

A low fire blazed through Merlin's stomach as Arthur slid his mouth against his lips, sucking at the bottom one with a thoroughness that left Merlin feeling less than solid and more likely to come apart, awaking low sobs and rushed breaths. 

As Arthur kissed him, Merlin pushed his fingers through the fine strands of his hair, scraping against the back of his neck in a way that had Arthur purring and trembling against him. 

“I am going to give you the celebratory fuck of your life,” Arthur murmured against Merlin's smile. 

Merlin's cock reacted in anticipation. “Yeah?” he asked, grinding the words out in between swift and hungry kisses. “You going to keep that promise?”

“You can bet on it,” Arthur said, pulling back. 

At the loss of Arthur's touch Merlin let out a grunt, but he then recognised the need for moving this away from his hall. As much as the idea of wall sex appealed to him, he wanted something different today. He wanted to be decadent and luxuriate in Arthur. The bedroom seemed more apt for this purpose. They could have round two up against that wall whenever they wanted.

“Come on,” Arthur said, tugging Merlin towards his room. 

As eager as Merlin was to get there, he had to admit they didn't take the most direct route they could have. They stopped on their way – not that Merlin's flat was actually that huge – and they were horny, so that one of them would take time for a kiss or to shove the other against wall, or for a grope.

As they went from one room to the other, they ended up bumping against walls and furniture, touching lips, their hands exploring their bodies. 

A third snogging session later Arthur hustled him down the last stretch of corridor and into his bedroom. It was Merlin's turn to slam Arthur against the wall this time. He pushed his jacket off his shoulders, not caring if it creased on its way to the floor or got stamped on, and dug his shirt out of his trousers.

Arthur was moaning now; the more so when Merlin's hands slid up under his shirt, his fingers locating bare skin and causing Arthur to move into the touch. “Love your hands,” Arthur said. “Never stop that.”

“So you're content with this and only this,” Merlin said, gently mocking. “Tell me, Arthur. Tell me.”

Arthur's pupils widened and his mouth formed into a pout of indignation. 

Merlin couldn't banish the surge of love that smile evoked. He moved so there was no gap between his and Arthur's bodies and kissed the corner of his mouth, groping Arthur's tie away to find a way to slip it from his neck without garrotting Arthur. Even as Merlin fumbled with it, Arthur made himself busy. He forced Merlin's duffel coat off his shoulders. “You wear way too many layers.” 

“Um, hello, early spring; it's still fucking cold... and dampish... Did I say dampish?”

As Arthur proceeded to free him of his shirt, Merlin dropped his arms, so the garment would fall to the floor without the hint of a struggle. He then pulled Merlin's under-shirt up and over his head, saying, “Told you, too many layers. It's like fucking thermal insulation and I can't get to your neck.”

“You sound like a vamp—” Merlin tried to say as Arthur laid his mouth to his throat, covering it with kisses that were open and wet and ended in just the right amount of sucking. 

“I sound like a man who wants you,” Arthur said, his words breathed out against the column of Merlin's neck. “So, so badly.” 

Merlin's guts clenched ever so tight. His cock stiffened, rising and pushing against the fabric of his trousers. Desire lit up low in his stomach. Arthur's voice just did things to him. 

“Nothing's stopping you from getting what you want,” Merlin said, his wandering hands locating Arthur's belt and zip at the same time Arthur's found his.

On their way over to the bed, they managed to shed the rest of their clothes, stepping over them as they went. A shoe thudded to the floor as did Arthur's buckle. Then Merlin was naked, his cock stiff and red and throbbing as it stretched upwards and against his belly. 

Like Merlin, Arthur had abandoned even the tiniest scrap of clothing. His body was muscular and ready, his prick leaking at the tip, the bead of liquid slowly meandering down the stem, making the slightly ruddy skin glisten and highlighting its velvety quality.

For a heartbeat they stared at each other, their chests heaving. 

Then Arthur lay Merlin down on his bed, on top of fresh covers that sighed with the weight of them and that were so deliciously cool they made Merlin moan. 

His weight atop Merlin's, Arthur slid his hands up his flanks and then up his arms.

“Hi,” he said, cocking his head at Merlin, lips quirking in a nearly shy greeting.

Merlin grinned, all breath leaving him. “Hello.”

Arthur's eyes darkened and he kissed Merlin, his tongue pushing past Merlin's lips, wetting them, till it was curling around Merlin's in a game of tag. At the same time Arthur pressed his body forward with a grunt that seemed to come deep from the cavity of his chest. As he moved, Merlin was able to feel Arthur's slick prick glide against his belly. 

The sensation left him trembling, had him curving into the body that pushed his against the bedding. 

“God, Arthur, fuck.”

Arthur must have interpreted that as the incentive it was meant to be because he started lavishing his attention on the part of Merlin's body that got Merlin dizzy and ready to go fastest: his neck. He pulled on his hair and bared Merlin's throat, putting his mouth to it. 

Merlin could not only feel each and every touch of Arthur's lips on his skin, but sense the smallest of Arthur's exhalations, as well as enjoy the fact that with his movements constricted this way, it was Arthur who chose where the kisses landed. It made them completely unpredictable, a whimsy of fortune. Merlin was the victim of them, waiting for the languorous torture to either end and give way to orgasm or continue and send him hurtling onto a plateau of ecstasy that had his eyes almost roll back in their sockets. 

Arthur's lips brushing against his Adam's apple, Merlin swallowed. He gulped against the touch, whimpered and sighed, and pushed his hips up and up, grasping Arthur's shoulders in a bid to pull him closer.

Though there likely wasn't any crawling closer at this point Merlin moved to nullify any gap arising between them. By this point they were tangled in a mess of limbs, Arthur mouthing at his skin, his weight on Merlin a comfort, hot and compelling. As Arthur nuzzled and nibbled wetly at his throat, marking several different spots under his ear until Merlin was sure they would coalesce in one big love bite, Merlin's arm went around Arthur's middle.

Reeling from the overload, Merlin bucked, grabbing at Arthur’s back, undulating and pulling his body to him at the same time. The see-saw motion made him giddy and got him closer to coming but not close enough.

Needing more, Merlin pulled his legs out from under Arthur’s weight. Now that he was relatively free to shift, he spread them wide and placed his feet either side of Arthur on the mattress. Hoping this told Arthur what he wanted to happen, he took Arthur's lips in his mouth, relinquishing a low breath when their pricks caught and snagged together.

Arthur sounded the same as him, his grunts so low they vibrated from deep within his ribcage. They got throatier when he shifted his hips, jamming them against Merlin's.

Hisses and bites followed; hands skimmed skin. Pleasure jolts shot up Merlin's spine, causing his lower body to twitch and falter. 

At that Arthur drew back. Wide-eyed, looking as though he was overcome with lust, he said, “Love the noises you make.”

Merlin's eyelids flickered. “Me too. Love the noise you make. Though--” He panted. “I'd love it if there was less talking and more, you know...”

Arthur took him at his word. He lowered his head and latched onto Merlin's throat, running his lips from base to under-jaw on one side and then from there downwards on the other. When he felt like it, he bit down on the skin he was treating to these lavish attentions of his, getting Merlin to react in the most impulsive of ways. He thrashed his head, dug his fingers into Arthur's sides, he rocked and panted as if he'd gone wild.

His vocabulary went wild too: He cursed. He sniped. He begged as prettily as he could. His cock throbbed, felt wet as ropes of gluey pre-come started slithering downwards. He had little dignity left.

“We should fuck,” he said, Arthur's eyes going wide. “Now.”

Merlin nodded. He couldn't have put it better himself. To help matters along, Merlin took one of Arthur's hands in his, licked his fingers, base to tip, as if they were Arthur's cock, flicking his tongue in the spaces between them and then brought the wet fingers to his hole.

"Shit,” Arthur said, his mouth falling open as if in a stupor.

Luckily for Merlin, he awoke from his spellbound phase and he started opening Merlin up with fingers, spit, lube and some stretching. 

From the moment Arthur entered him, Merlin knew he wasn't going to last long. That this would be one quick fuck, but that didn't matter because he could feel Arthur, fat and hard inside him, opening him with his body in a way that hurt just enough to be bloody lovely. 

The slight amount of hurt, the low burn, didn't matter because this way he could cradle Arthur's body with his, welcome each and every stutter of his hips, each and every rattle of his breath. He could take his tongue in his mouth and suck on it while Arthur plunged and retreated, plunged and retreated inside him, occasionally hitting his prostate in an erratic rhythm that was enough to send Merlin crazy trying to grasp the tides of it.

It was so good Merlin's heart kicked in his chest like a galloping horse. So good that his balls drew up tight as Arthur's cock nudged back in, beginning a long slide that finished with a stuttered jerk. Those long deep slides getting shorter and shorter, just like Arthur's breath, or his kiss, their tempo increased. 

Another messy open-mouthed kiss started and as they both sank into it, the heat of moment, each gave way to his own climax: Arthur going down on his elbows, sinking his teeth in Merlin's throat, and pulsing his come out in short spurts that Merlin felt wet his insides; Merlin clamping his thighs around Arthur in a spasm that was dictated by a muscle lock-down, fingers arching around his prick. The lightest of pulls had his balls drawn up tight and caused him to spill. As he did he sighed in relief.

Then he went quite limp. 

"Arthur," Merlin said a while later, when the roaring buzz in his ears died down. He was wheezing harshly, his voice broken with need. “Arthur, that was... that was.”

Arthur sagged against him, disengaging his cock from the grip of Merlin's skin. He put his ear to Merlin's chest, surely able to detect the minutest amount of panting Merlin's tested body was letting out. 

“That was...”

“The best symphony I ever heard,” Arthur said, the contours of a smile playing against Merlin's flushed skin.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> A sample of the music that Arthur and Merlin play:
> 
>  
> 
> [Bach's Partita No 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=2H0l_sSamis)  
> [Polonaise Brillainte](https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=SzQTauydkt)  
> [Scottish Fantasy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=-WKUaqr9A6w%20)  
> [Oberon Overture](https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=WYr8WTg4lD8)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Gantin' fur it: Scottish slang, basically means to desire sex, be horny


End file.
